


all the love I never gave (before I left you)

by holtzbabe



Series: all the love I never gave [1]
Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Best Friends to Lovers, F/F, an AU where there are not two names on the cover of Ghosts From Our Past, and there is a lifetime of history before the words Come Here Often are ever uttered, but three, in other words, lovers to strangers, strangers to best friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2018-11-04 22:45:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 183,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11000574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holtzbabe/pseuds/holtzbabe
Summary: When Holtzmann sees her—the ultimate ghost from her past, wearing a tweed suit and clutching the briefcase she’s had since high school—and hears her voice, so familiar yet so foreign at the same time, how could it not burn like thermite straight through her heart?Because in that moment, she’s seven and meeting her for the first time in the Natural Science section of the library, and she’s eleven and kissing her in the woods outside Cabin 3, and she’s twenty-one and staring into the unblinking eye of a camera and knowing in her gut that she’s never going to see Erin Gilbert again in her life.And now, a decade and a half later, all she can do is watch from behind a machine that wouldn’t exist if not for Erin’s beautiful mind and resist the urge to stand up and screamafter all we’ve been through, how could you have left?





	1. no more fearing control (I'm ready for the both of us now)

**Author's Note:**

> Titles are from HAIM's [Want You Back](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D7krrRoJpT0), which I listened to sometime between the idea for this fic and writing the first sentence and realized is the perfect song for this fic.
> 
> Are you ready? You're in for an emotional journey with this one.

i.

Erin Gilbert is pretty much sick of other kids. She’s had enough—enough of the way they treat her, enough of their mean comments, enough of being shoved into lockers and splattered with white paint and tripped in the hallway and on the playground. She’s had enough of their cold laughter, their cold looks, their cold hearts. She’s had enough.

She tells her mom and dad this, and they tell Dr. Lisa, and Dr. Lisa sits across from Erin in the brown room and asks _why?_ Always _why?_

Erin always gives the same answer. She kicks her heels against the scratchy fabric at the base of the couch and says, “I don’t know.”

(She does know, of course, but she never says).

The ghost stops coming every night, but nothing else stops. Erin still stays awake most of the night in terror. The kids still bully her, call her Ghost Girl, call her crazy.

Summer is a relief. Summer is an eternity away from school. She spends her days at the public library, where she never sees another kid from her grade. She barely sees any kids at all, any age, and the ones she does see only come to pick out books and leave again. None of them stay like she does, tucked into a quiet corner on the other side of the 500s. Far away from the children’s section with its beanbag chairs and primary-coloured foam floor.

Nobody bothers her there.

Until one day, mid summer, when it’s too warm to be outside and too warm to be inside, at least in her house. The library has industrial air conditioners, so it’s nice and cool.

She’s reading a thick book on algebra and trying to see how many of the equations she can get right when a girl rounds the corner and comes down into her aisle. She’s small, really small, with golden hair too dirty and messy to be like a princess’s. She’s wearing purple overalls with dirt and paint all over them, and a fuzzy orange sweater that she must be very warm in. She’s wearing black and yellow gumboots even though they haven’t had rain in ages. She’s got a peace sign button pinned to the strap of her overalls, and a patchwork bag slung over her shoulder that hangs so low that it scrapes the carpet. She’s got glasses, but the glass is yellow and they’re so big that they’re barely hanging on her nose.

The girl smiles when she sees Erin, big and wide so Erin can see the missing teeth on the bottom.

“Hiya!”

Erin shrinks back from the girl’s enthusiasm. She doesn’t trust other kids, not one bit. She knows how to deal with them, though.

“Whaddya want?” she says in her toughest voice.

The girl keeps smiling. “I’m looking for a book on how to build a tape recorder.”

Why would she want to do that?

“That’s Technology and Applied Science, the 600s. This is the 500s.”

“What’s that?” The girl looks at the shelf beside her.

“Natural Science.”

“You sure know your stuff. Are you going to be a librarian when you grow up?”

Erin shakes her head. “I’m going to be a scientist.”

“Cool! Me too. Maybe. I dunno. I like building things. Whatcha reading?”

Erin looks down at her book. “It’s math. You wouldn’t understand it.”

“Oh.” The girls drops her bag on the floor, like maybe she’s planning on staying a while. “How old are you?”

“Nine,” Erin says proudly. She just had her birthday. She didn’t have a birthday party because she knew nobody would come to it, but her parents made her a cake. Vanilla, her favourite, with rainbow sprinkles.

“I’m turning eight in September,” the girl says, equally as proud.

Eight? She’s so small, though. Maybe she’s lying.

“Well,” Erin says, “I need to get back to my math.”

The girl picks up her bag again. “Right. And I need to go find my book.”

She stands there for a few more seconds. Erin buries her nose in her book and prays that the girl leaves her alone.

“I’m Jillian,” the girl says. “What’s your name?”

“Stacy,” Erin says. She doesn’t know why. She’s always liked the thought of being a Stacy. She bets Stacy wouldn’t have a ghost haunt her. Stacy would be popular and have friends.

The girl, Jillian, smiles again. “Nice to meet you, Stacy. See ya around?”

“Sure,” Erin mutters.

Jillian gives a weird little salute and marches out of the aisle, leaving Erin to return to her calculations in peace and forget all about her.

September approaches, and Erin tells her parents that she doesn’t want to go back to school. They tell Dr. Lisa, and Dr. Lisa asks _why?_ like she always does, and Erin says she doesn’t know.

Her dad says, “Suck it up,” and so Erin has to go back to school, where all she can do is hope that all the other kids forgot about her over the summer.

Her class list says she has some of the worst kids in her fourth-grade class, like Greg Christopher and Chris Turner, who she likes to smoosh together into one super-mean boy named Chris Christopher. She doesn’t bother reading the rest of the list. It’s not like she has any friends to look for.

Basically, she’s looking forward to going back to school as much as she’s looking forward to her next dentist appointment.

 

Jillian Holtzmann has never cared a whole lot about other kids. She’s made the odd friend here and there in her nearly-eight years of life, but she doesn’t care much when they get scared of her or call her weird. She likes being alone. She’s never met anyone who’s as smart as she is, so she gets bored talking to other kids her age.

She gets bored in school too, like _really_ bored. Her second-grade teacher notices how bored she always gets in class, how it takes her like five minutes to do all her work, and tells her mom and Principal Vickers, and they decide that she should skip right ahead to the fourth grade this year. She sits in his office with her feet swinging while he says to her mom that normally there’s concern about letting a student skip a grade because it might be hard on them to lose their friends, but Jillian doesn’t have any friends so she’ll be okay. She agrees with him.

She’s put into Mrs. Albertson’s class, and she reads through all the names on her class list and memorizes them, which is easy peasy because she only has to look at something once to remember it forever (Dr. Hirata once told her that it’s called a ‘photographic memory,’ and now every time she does it she makes a little camera click in her brain, just for fun). She doesn’t know any of the names, but that’s not surprising. They’re all a whole year older than her.

On the first day of school, her mom drives her in their red ’82 Chevy C10 (Jillian loves that truck a lot, and can tell you about everything from the engine to the grills to the little hula dancer duct-taped to the dashboard, who she’s named Marge).

Jillian grabs her bag from down by her feet.

“Have a good first day, baby,” her mom says, stretching across the seat to kiss her cheek. “Raise the perfect amount of hell, okay?”

“Just enough to keep things interesting,” Jillian confirms with a bob of her head. Just like her mom always told her.

Her mom smiles fondly and ruffles her already-messy hair. “Go get ’em.”

Jillian opens the door of the truck and clambers out with her bag, then slams it shut behind her. You gotta give it a good shove, or it won’t close properly. She gives her mom a salute and watches her drive off to her job at the Kellogg’s factory. She operates the machine that fills the bags with cereal. It’s really cool—one time Jillian got to go and learn about how it worked. Plus, she got free cereal. Win-win.

She finds Mrs. Albertson’s classroom easily and walks in to find it buzzing with activity as all the kids catch up with each other after a summer apart.

“Welcome, Jillian!” Mrs. Albertson says. They met last week to talk about her ‘transition’ into the fourth grade.

She points Jillian in the direction of her assigned desk. All the desks are arranged in little clusters of four. There’s a girl sitting at her cluster already. Jillian comes up behind her and sees the small paper nameplate that shows she’s in the desk beside the girl. She pulls out her chair and drops her bag on the floor.

“Hi! I’m Jill—” She breaks off as the girl beside her turns her head and she sees her face for the first time. “Oh! Stacy?”

There was no Stacy on her class list. Did she just get transferred in? This is exciting—she didn’t expect to know anyone. Not that she really knows Stacy, but at least she’s met her.

“Uh…I…” Stacy splutters.

Then Jillian notices the nameplate on her desk. _Erin._

Erin Gilbert, Jillian recalls from the list. She scrunches her face in confusion. “Wait…I thought you were someone else. Sorry. Do you have a twin named Stacy?” she asks hopefully.

Stacy—no, _Erin_ …whoever she is, her face turns very red. “No. I, um…my name’s not Stacy. It’s Erin.”

“Well, I got that,” Jillian says. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I mean, I lied. I told you I was Stacy. That was me.”

“Oh.” That makes Jillian even more confused. “Why?”

“I thought Stacy was cool,” Erin says, her face now the colour of the tomato plants on Jillian’s balcony.

“Oh,” Jillian says again. “That’s okay. Erin seems cool, too.”

Erin bites her lip. “What are you doing here? I thought you were eight?”

“Still seven for another week, technically. I get to skip the third grade,” she says proudly.

“Wow,” Erin says. “You must be really smart.”

Jillian shrugs her shoulders to her ears. “I am.”

Dr. Hirata made her do a lot of tests to find out how smart she is, where she did everything from solve long lists of equations to copy patterns using cubes. He wouldn’t tell her what her score was, but he told her mom, and her mom cried and bought her a brand new set of tools which were so shiny that Jillian was scared to use them. She might have thought that this was a sign that she did badly and she felt bad for her, but she overheard her mom on the phone later say the word ‘genius,’ so Jillian supposes she couldn’t have done that badly.

A boy comes and sits across from them and sneers at Erin. “Great. I have to look at Ghost Girl all day?” He turns to examine Jillian. “Who are you?”

She smiles. “Jillian Holtzmann.”

“What’s with the glasses, Jillian? You trying to look cool? You just look like a bug. A creepy, scaly bug with big bug-eyes. Reptilian Jillian, that’s what you should be called.”

She tilts her head. “Bugs aren’t reptiles.”

“Whatever, weirdo nerd. Are you even in the right classroom? What are you, five?”

Jillian’s had enough of this. “At least I’m smarter than a five-year-old, unlike you.”

“Shut up, Reptilian Jillian. Where’d you find this kid, Ghost Girl? Did you have to steal someone out of kindergarten to be your friend because nobody else would? Did she see a ghost, too? A ghost bug?”

Jillian leans forward on her desk and rests her chin on her fists. “Ghost bugs sound cool. There’d be so many of them, considering how quickly bugs die.” She looks at Erin. “Did you really see a ghost?”

Erin doesn’t answer her, but crosses her arms. “Leave us alone, Chris.”

Soon, another boy joins their cluster of desks and the school day officially begins, and the entire incident is temporarily pushed from Jillian’s mind.

 

Recess can’t come fast enough. It’s only been a few hours, and Erin is already sick of this year. Not only is it obvious that nobody’s forgotten about the Ghost Girl thing, but Mrs. Albertson just _had_ to put half of Chris Christopher in her desk group.

As soon as they’re dismissed for recess, she grabs the muffin her mom packed her and beelines across the field towards her Spot, tucked in the corner where the fences meet and there’s enough overhanging trees that she’s _almost_ invisible.

“Erin!”

She looks over her shoulder to see Jillian running towards her in a lopsided way with her arms waving everywhere, causing heads to turn after her. Why won’t she leave Erin alone? Doesn’t she realize yet that Erin doesn’t want to be friends? Not with her, and not with anyone.

She keeps walking, but Jillian catches up with her anyway. She’s panting like a dog. “Boy, you walk fast.”

“What do you want?”

“Can I play with you?”

“I don’t _play_ at recess,” Erin says. “I sit quietly and read and eat my snack.”

“Okay, can I do _that_ with you?”

“Don’t you have friends your own age?” Erin says meanly.

“Nope,” Jillian says cheerfully.

Erin doesn’t care enough to fight, so she doesn’t say anything else, hoping Jillian will take the hint that she’s not welcome and leave.

She doesn’t.

Erin sits down in her Spot, peels the plastic wrap off her muffin, and cracks open her book. Jillian grabs the chain-link fence, lacing her fingers through the holes, and stares into the small forest on the other side.

“Wonder what’s in there?”

“Trees,” Erin says, finding her place in her book easily and picking up where she left off.

“Bears, probably.”

“There’s no bears in there.” Erin flips the page.

Jillian releases the fence and plunks herself down in the grass next to Erin. “Why are you so mean?”

Erin doesn’t say anything. Flips another page.

“I’m just trying to be nice,” Jillian continues. “Seems like I’m one of the only people who is. So why are you being mean to me?”

Erin slams her book shut. “Listen. I know you’re only trying to get in on the joke so you can fit in with everyone else. I’m not going to tell you, okay? Go figure it out from someone else.”

Jillian frowns. “What joke? If you mean the ‘Ghost Girl’ thing, I don’t care. I get picked on, too. I just thought you might want a friend.”

“I don’t need friends.”

“Neither do I. But you don’t need enemies either, and it seems like you’ve got a lot of those already.” Jillian rips out a handful of grass and throws it.

Maybe she’s telling the truth.

“You can stay,” Erin says finally.

“Cool,” Jillian says. “Whatcha reading today? More math?”

“It’s Jane Austen.”

“Never heard of her.”

“Most kids haven’t,” Erin says, feeling pleased with herself that she has.

“Is it good?”

“It’s okay.”

Truthfully, she doesn’t understand a lot of what’s happening in the book and finds it a little boring, but she likes learning new words and that’s why she’s reading it. It’s one of the books that her grandmother got her for her last birthday.

“I don’t like reading much. Unless it’s telling me how to do something.”

“Like build a tape recorder?”

Jillian gives her another toothy grin. “Exactly. I don’t even read those kinda books that much. I like figuring stuff out myself. I only look for directions when I’m really stuck.”

“So you were really stuck on the tape recorder?”

Jillian sighs sadly. “Yeah. It only plays songs backwards. No matter what I do, I can’t get it to work properly.” She perks up. “On the bright side, I get to listen to songs backwards, which not many people get to do.”

Erin stares at her for a few moments. “You’re weird.”

“I know,” Jillian says proudly. “Aren’t you?”

“No,” Erin says defensively.

“Don’t worry,” Jillian says. “It’s not a bad thing.”

“Pretty sure it is,” Erin mutters.

They’re quiet for a minute.

“Hey, why _do_ they call you Ghost Girl?”

Erin freezes up.

“Don’t worry. I told you—I don’t care and I won’t call you it. I just wanna know. Did you really see a ghost, or is that just pretend?”

What’s Erin got to lose in telling her? The companionship of this little kid who she doesn’t want around anyway?

“Yeah, I did,” she says quietly.

“Whaaaat?! Cool!”

Cool? That wasn’t the answer Erin was expecting. “It wasn’t cool. It was scary.”

“Didya know who it was?”

Erin nods. “My next door neighbour. She hated me and was super mean, and then when she died she came into my room and screamed and barfed all over me.”

“Wicked. Real barf or ghost barf?”

“It looked like blood,” Erin says. “But when she disappeared, it went away too.”

“That’s so awesome,” Jillian says. “How many times have you seen her?”

“She came every night for a year,” Erin admits, her heart beating faster at the memory.

“Sweeeeet! I mean, scary, definitely, but that’s so cool. How many people get to see a ghost, let alone see one for a whole year?”

She’s almost talking like she’s jealous. “Well, I’d gladly give her to you,” Erin says. “It was awful.”

Jillian thinks for a few seconds. “So do the other kids not believe you?”

Erin shakes her head. “They think I’m crazy. So do my parents.”

“What? Why? Do they not believe in ghosts?”

“Nobody does. Only crazy people.”

Jillian shrugs. “I believe in ghosts. And aliens!”

“Well, people will say you’re crazy, too.”

“That’s alright. I don’t mind. I don’t care what people say about me.” She puffs her chest out. “My mom taught me that. She says the most important thing is being proud of who you are.”

Erin doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to do that, but she nods like she agrees. “So you really believe me that I saw a ghost?”

“Of course! Why would you lie about that?”

(For attention, according to Dr. Lisa).

Erin smiles a bit. Jillian is the first person to believe her, or at least _say_ she believes her. She still doesn’t fully trust her to not go running off and join the others…but how much trouble could this tiny blonde girl cause, anyway?

 

From that moment on, the two of them are friends.

To Jillian’s jubilance, Erin is smart, too. Really smart. She wasn’t kidding when she said she was doing math that Jillian wouldn’t understand. Jillian’s good at math, but Erin’s _really_ good at math and she loves it. Jillian doesn’t particularly like math, even though it’s easy for her brain to do.

They both finish their work in class very fast, but Mrs. Albertson is good at giving them extra things to do. On the other side of their desk cluster, Chris Turner goes super red every time it happens, like he’s a volcano that’s going to erupt. He doesn’t like that they’re smarter than him.

He spreads the nickname he made up, and soon the whole class calls her Reptilian Jillian. She doesn’t mind. One day, she draws a little comic about Reptilian Jillian and Ghost Girl, because she thinks they sound like superheroes. In the comic, they defeat a gigantic monster named Chris Christopher who’s stomping his way through a big city. Ghost Girl’s powers are flying and telekinesis, and Reptilian Jillian can climb up buildings and shoot lasers from her mouth. They’re the perfect team.

Erin loves it so much that Jillian copies out the comic so they can both have it. Jillian folds her copy up and hides it under her pillow.

She hasn’t told her mom about Erin, and she doesn’t quite know why. She kinda likes being weird and friendless. She’s Jillian Holtzmann who doesn’t need friends, and that’s the way it’s always been.

Not that she doesn’t like being Erin’s friend. It’s just that her friendship with Erin is kind of special, and she likes that nobody knows about it. Even the kids at school don’t take them seriously.

So, they only ever spend time together at school and never go to each others’ houses for playdates. Not that they play, ever. They usually talk about ghosts or science or ghost science. They talk about how they can’t wait to get out of elementary school so they can learn about even more things. Even with Mrs. Albertson giving them as much extra work as she can, they’re both still bored in class.

Now, though, Jillian doesn’t mind. At least they’re bored together.

 

Fourth grade is a lot better than Erin thought it would be. To her surprise, Jillian is becoming her best friend. They spend every recess and lunch together, talking about science and math. She knew Jillian had to be smart in order to skip the third grade, but she didn’t know Jillian was _this_ smart. She knows a lot of things that Erin doesn’t know, and she remembers _everything_. She’ll be able to perfectly remember something Erin said to her months ago.

She doesn’t tell her mom and dad or Dr. Lisa about Jillian, because she doesn’t want them to think that the only person willing to be her friend is a girl who doesn’t have any other friends. She also knows that her mom and dad would want to meet Jillian, and she’s a little embarrassed by her. She’s so _weird_ , and she dresses like a ragamuffin, as her mom would say, and the worst part is that she believes in ghosts. Her mom and dad and Dr. Lisa would probably say that she was a bad friend to have. They wouldn’t like her.

So Erin keeps Jillian to herself.

As summer approaches, she starts to wonder what’s going to happen when they’re not in school. Will she not see Jillian again until September? What if they don’t get put in the same class next year? Jillian’s presence has been the only thing that got her through all the mean things kids have said to her this year. She makes it seem like being Ghost Girl is a good thing.

Jillian is the one who asks, finally.

“You think we’ll see each other during summer?”

They’re in their Spot. Jillian is practicing cartwheels across the grass while Erin watches. She does a running start and plants her hands, and her feet barely get off the ground.

“I dunno,” Erin says.

“Do you wanna?” Jillian goes again, and this attempt is more like a somersault than a cartwheel.

“Yeah,” Erin says.

“Cool. Me too.”

They both know that they aren’t going to invite each other to their houses. Erin taps her fingers on her knees. “Maybe we can meet up at the library?”

That’s where she spends her summers anyway, so it won’t be suspicious.

Jillian lands her next cartwheel face first, then rolls so she’s sitting. “Yeah!”

On their last day of school, Erin is cleaning out her desk when Jillian sets something on it. Erin hesitantly picks it up. It’s a button with a little lizard on it. She looks up in confusion.

Jillian holds up a button with a small ghost on it. “So we can remember each other over the summer if we don’t see each other much.”

Erin smiles and attaches the pin to her bookbag. Jillian puts her ghost one on her patchwork bag, where she has a growing collection of buttons, including the peace sign one that she was wearing on her overalls the first time they met.

“Thanks, RJ,” Erin says.

Jillian flashes a full grin. “You’re welcome, GG.”

When Erin’s mom and dad ask her where she got the pin, she lies and says she won it in trivia game at school.

Over the summer, she goes to the public library every single day in the hopes that she’ll see Jillian. It takes days and days before she finally shows up, dragging her patchwork bag behind her.

Erin sits up straighter immediately. “Where have you been?”

Jillian shrugs. “Sorry.”

She never answers the question. For the rest of the summer, her appearances are scattered and unpredictable. Erin still goes every day. She doesn’t want to miss her.

Despite being surrounded by knowledge, they don’t talk about school stuff much. Instead, they learn everything about each other. They discover that both Jillian’s mom and Erin’s dad work at the Kellogg’s factory, but in different sections.

“What about your dad?” Erin asks.

“I don’t have a dad,” Jillian says.

“Everyone has a dad.”

“That’s not true,” Jillian says. “I don’t.”

“In order to make a baby—”

“I don’t have a dad,” Jillian says firmly. “It’s just me and my mom. Always has been, and always will be. It’s the two of us forever.”

“Okay,” Erin says.

 

Two things happen in Jillian’s ninth year of life. The first thing is that her and Erin aren’t put into the same fifth grade class. The second thing is that her mom falls in love.

The man’s name is Mark, and he’s very nice. He brings her mom flowers and Jillian brand-new electronics to take apart. That’s how Jillian knows he has a lot of money—he’ll bring her a Walkman still in its box and tell her to go to town on it.

She’s never had much brand-new. It’s all second-hand. Most of the things she owns are things she built or fixed from parts she found in a dumpster. She likes it that way. It’s never bothered her that she doesn’t have new stuff. She knows her mom works very hard at the factory to feed them, and she would never ask for more.

But Mark, Mark has a lot of money. And he buys Jillian a lot of things, probably to get her to like him.

He doesn’t have to work very hard. He’s very nice, and he makes her mom smile at nothing and sing in the shower.

She tells Erin about Mark. Even though they’re not in the same fifth grade class, they still spend every single recess and lunch together.

“Maybe you’ll have a dad after all,” Erin says.

Jillian doesn’t stop thinking about that for a long time.

In April, Mark takes her out for dinner, just the two of them.

“Jillian, I want to ask your mom to marry me. Is that okay with you?”

Jillian looks up from her crayon doodle of a rocket-powered skateboard. It might be babyish, but she draws all her best ideas in crayon.

“Marry you?” she repeats.

“Yes. I would be your stepdad.”

Mark would be part of her family. She likes him, she really does, but she freezes up at that. “But…but it’s just me and my mom. It’s the two of us forever.” That’s what her mom always told her. She says it was the first thing she ever said to Jillian, while she was holding her in her arms in the hospital. _Just the two of us forever, baby._

“Jillian, I love your mom a lot. I love you, too. I don’t want to infringe on the special bond you have. That’s the last thing I want.”

Jillian licks her lips. “Okay. You can marry her.”

 

Erin hears all about Jillian’s mom and Mark. Apparently, they’re having a wedding in the summer. Erin’s never been to a wedding. She asks Jillian if she’s going to be the flower girl, and she just laughs so hard her apple juice comes out of her nose.

The fifth grade is pretty miserable without Jillian in her class. Luckily, she only got half of Chris Christopher in her class, Greg Christopher. Jillian has Chris Turner in her class. They swap stories of all the mean things they say.

Neither of their teachers are as awesome as Mrs. Albertson was. Erin’s teacher, Mr. Murphy, doesn’t believe in letting kids work ahead. He says if she finishes her work, she’s to sit at her desk quietly.

Jillian’s teacher, Mr. O’Neal, doesn’t like when kids are smarter than him, which isn’t good because as far as Erin knows, Jillian is smarter than most of the teachers at the school. One day, she waits for Jillian at their Spot all lunch, and she never shows up. The next day at recess, she finds out that Jillian spent all lunch in the principal’s office for talking back to Mr. O’Neal.

Jillian kicks the ground when she tells the story. “His answer was wrong. All I did was correct him, but he didn’t believe me.”

Erin bites her lip. She knows better than to correct teachers when they’re wrong, but Jillian doesn’t care about anything like that. She likes to cause trouble.

“Don’t worry. Soon we’ll be at middle school, and I bet all the teachers there’ll appreciate you,” Erin says.

Middle school. The promised land. Based on the location of their elementary school, half their grade won’t be attending the same middle school as Erin and Jillian. They’ve already checked and double checked that they’re both going to be at the same one. Most of the kids who are mean to them, including Chris Christopher, are going to be at the other one. Hopefully there will be enough new kids from the other elementary schools that the whole ‘Ghost Girl and Reptilian Jillian’ thing dies out.

The school year draws to a close, and they make plans to meet up at the library again like they did last summer. Jillian says she’ll probably be busy with her mom’s wedding, but she’ll try to come as much as she can.

They say goodbye on the last day, and then Erin doesn’t see Jillian for a month. It’s into August before she finally shows up at the library. Erin’s still been coming every day, just in case.

She drops her book on the floor and leaps out of her chair when she sees her. “RJ!”

Jillian beams, but she looks a little sad, too. “GG.”

“Where have you been?”

“Ummm…well, my mom got married, you know.”

“Right, of course. How was it?”

“Nice,” Jillian says.

“So Mark is your stepdad now?”

“Yep.”

Usually Jillian is more talkative than this. Erin feels like something is wrong, like there’s something she’s not telling her.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yep,” Jillian says again. “Whatcha reading?”

Erin looks down at her dropped book. She stoops to pick it up and make sure the pages aren’t bent. “It’s about atoms. Did you know that everything in the entire world is made up of atoms? They’re like tiny little microscopic things that build everything. Like Lego blocks, but you can’t see them.”

“Cool,” Jillian says. “What are they made of? Cheese?”

Erin laughs. “Even smaller particles. Protons, neutrons, and electrons. The protons are positive and the electrons are negative, so they’re attracted to each other. And they’re made up of even _smaller_ parts.”

“Neato. What happens if you disassemble them? Can you put them back together in a different way?”

“It’s not that easy. They’re _really_ small.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” Jillian says. “I think you can pull anything apart and put it back together if you have the right tools.”

They keep on discussing that, Jillian squeezing onto the chair beside Erin so they can read the book together, and Erin forgets all about how weird Jillian was being when she first arrived.

Well, weirder than usual.

They meet up a few more times during the rest of the summer, and each time Jillian seems a little quieter. Erin wonders if she’s just upset about her mom getting married.

Before Erin knows it, it’s her first day of middle school. She’s a little scared about finding Jillian in such a big school. They even have lockers to hold their stuff, which is a big step up. The older kids look like teenagers. They’re so _tall._

All day, she searches for a mess of blonde hair, a patchwork bag. Jillian isn’t in her class or in her electives. She’s nowhere to be found in the locker bay. At lunch, Erin circles the building and the playground twice, even roams the entire field. By the time the bell rings, she hasn’t even had time to eat her lunch.

She stays hopeful. Maybe they’ve just been going in circles this whole time, never quite crossing paths at the right moment.

She looks the second day, too.

And the third.

And the whole first week.

By the second week, she’s stopped. She finds a new Spot on the field and waits there.

By the third week, she’s given up. Jillian’s not here. She’s not coming.

She takes the lizard pin off her bag.

 


	2. said you'd always see me through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings from this point on for emotionally abusive/neglectful parents, and for more bullying.

ii.

_Jillian’s mom and Mark sit across from her in the living room of their apartment._

_“Honey, we think this is best for you. Don’t you agree?”_

_Jillian feels like someone’s poured a bunch of honey in her brain. Best for her? How could this possibly be best for her?_

_Now that her mom and Mark are married, they have enough money that her mom doesn’t have to work at the factory anymore. Now she has a bunch of free time, and apparently she’s going to use her free time to do something that Dr. Hirata talked about a long time ago._

_“Homeschooling?” Jillian repeats. The word sounds strange. She doesn’t like it._

_Mark smiles softly. “Your principal and teachers have been very clear about you being bored in class. You’re not being challenged. Isn’t that right, Jillian?”_

_“I…” Yes, it’s technically right…but she doesn’t care anymore. Not while she has Erin._

_“We know you haven’t had the greatest time at school, baby,” her mom says. “You deserve to be challenged. You’re a very smart girl, and it’s about time that you get all the opportunities you deserve.”_

_“But you don’t know as much as my teachers,” Jillian says._

_Her mom laughs. “I’ll be teaching you subjects like English and history, the things I’m good at. We’re going to hire people to teach you science and math.”_

_“But…but why can’t I just skip a grade again?”_

_“Oh, babygirl. Dr. Hirata thinks you could be learning at least at the high-school-level, but probably university-level within the next few years. You aren’t going to get that kind of education in the public school system, even by skipping several grades. Plus we know that socially, you’ve been struggling. Skipping more grades would just put you further at risk.”_

_At risk? At risk for what?_

_“You can’t homeschool me. I’ll miss my best friend,” Jillian blurts._

_Her mom blinks. “Who?”_

_“Erin. Her name is Erin,” Jillian says quickly. “She likes math and wants to be a scientist when she grows up.”_

_Her mom and Mark exchange a long look. “Honey…” Her mom smiles sadly. “You don’t need to lie to us, okay?”_

_They think she’s making Erin up. Why wouldn’t they, when this is the first time Jillian’s ever mentioned her? She feels like crying._

_“I promise this is going to be good for you, baby,” her mom says. “Okay?”_

_Jillian digs her heels into the couch and fights back tears. “Okay.”_

_She doesn’t tell Erin. She sees her at the library, and she doesn’t tell her. She listens to Erin talk about middle school, and she doesn’t tell her. She can’t. It would hurt her too much. And it hurts Jillian to think about Erin being hurt._

Erin sits in a toilet stall with her feet pulled up out of view and cries as quietly as she can. She’s perfected the art of this in her nearly two years in middle school.

Middle school. Not the promised land. Even worse than elementary school.

Word travelled like wildfire about her ghost. It won’t stop haunting her even after changing schools, somehow followed her from elementary school. Chris Christopher may be gone, but now there are even bigger, meaner bullies that make her long for the days of Chris Christopher’s half-witted insults that never made sense.

In middle school, the other kids deface her locker, steal her lunch and flush it down the toilet, set her up in class to look like an idiot.

Middle school is hell.

The door slams against the wall and footsteps enter the bathroom. Erin holds her breath.

“Ghost Girl, we know you’re in here.” It’s Heather Cross, one of the meanest girls Erin’s ever met.

The stall behind her clangs as one of her cronies shoves it open. Erin jumps.

A few seconds later, the head of Lisa Hilde pokes under Erin’s stall with an evil grin. “Found her.”

Erin closes her eyes and steels herself for whatever they’ve got planned for her.

 

Jillian thinks about Erin all the time. For a while, she goes to the public library just to see if she’ll run into her. She convinces her mom that it’s necessary for her homeschooling, and soon she’s going every single day after 3:00pm, when she knows Erin is most likely to be there.

She never comes.

After a while, Jillian starts writing little notes on scraps of paper, just in case.

_GG_

_I’m sorry_

_x RJ_

She sticks one inside every single book that Erin’s ever checked out. She has them all memorized. Photographic memory, and all that. Then she puts one inside every book that Erin _might_ check out, on math and science and even inside every copy of Jane Austen’s novels that the library has.

Every day, she checks all of them to see if Erin’s written her back.

She never does.

The librarian catches her doing it one day and says that if she doesn’t stop leaving notes inside the books, she’ll be banned from the library.

She keeps doing it anyway, just more sneakily.

 

Erin’s parents must finally realize how much she’s being tormented at school, because they take pity on her and agree to let her go to science camp the summer before eighth grade. It’s five weeks long, and far enough away from Battle Creek that nobody she knows will be there. Not that anyone she knows would ever _go_ to science camp to begin with.

It’s like a dream come true. Five weeks away from her parents, away from everyone, and she gets to learn about science.

Her parents drop her off at the gate to the camp and don’t even come out of the car to say goodbye. She doesn’t care much as she drags her small suitcase through the gravel to follow the posted arrows. She eventually finds a perky counsellor who checks a list and puts her in Cabin 3.

The cabins aren’t cabins so much as they are cinderblock rectangles, but she’s still excited as she makes her way there. She pulls open the door and steps inside to find some other girls already waiting there.

“Hi!” a short black girl with thick purple glasses says. “I’m Dee! Welcome to Cabin 3.” She giggles. “That rhymed. You can take any bed that doesn’t have stuff on it.”

Erin smiles and zeros in on a bottom bunk that looks free. There’s someone already stretched out on the top bunk, facing the wall, with blonde hair pulled back into a messy bun.

“I’m Erin,” she says to Dee, and throws her backpack onto the empty bed.

Quicker than she can process what’s happening, there’s a flurry of movement from the top bunk.

“GG?”

Erin freezes. Looks up.

It’s Jillian.

 

Jillian can hardly believe her eyes. _Years_ of trying to contact Erin, and now she’s standing right in front of her?

She scrambles down from the top bunk with her mouth hanging wide open. Erin looks just as stunned. They stand across from each other and just stare for a while.

“You know each other?” Dee asks.

Erin nods, her lips pressed together.

Jillian licks her own lips and jabs her thumb in the vague direction of the door. “Can we talk outside? Can I explain?”

For a second, she thinks maybe Erin won’t agree. But finally she nods again.

They go outside to the forested area behind their cabin. Jillian takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“What happened?” Erin says, her voice very small. “Did you move?”

Jillian looks down and kicks at the dirt with her already-filthy shoes. “No. My mom and Mark pulled me from school to homeschool me.”

“Why?”

“Because they thought I wasn’t being challenged enough. Which was true, I guess.”

“Why didn’t you tell them you didn’t want that?”

“I tried,” Jillian says. “I really did, GG. I promise. They didn’t believe me that I had a friend. They thought I made you up.”

“Oh.” Erin’s lip wobbles. “Why didn’t you try to phone me?”

“I don’t know your phone number.”

“We’re in the phone book,” Erin says with a frown.

Jillian blinks. “I didn’t even think of that.”

“How could you have not thought of that?”

“I don’t know,” Jillian admits. “I wrote you a bunch of notes, though, and left them in library books for you. I almost got banned because of it.”

“I don’t go to the library anymore,” Erin says.

“Oh…why not?”

Erin shrugs. “It’s not the same anymore.”

They’re quiet. Off in the distance, there’s some excited shouting.

“I can’t believe we’re both here,” Jillian says, the reality of that sinking in for the first time. Five weeks of uninterrupted time with Erin to hopefully make up for two years apart.

Erin looks like the same thing is occurring to her. “Neither can I. This is…wow.”

An excited smile spreads on her face, and Jillian thinks maybe she’s been forgiven.

 

It still doesn’t feel _real_ to Erin that Jillian’s here. She hasn’t changed much—she’s bigger, but still small and scrawny. She mostly looks the same. Same mismatched clothes, same messy hair (although now she pulls it back out of her face with a blue bandana and a bun). Same old Jillian.

The whole camp gathers that night for a welcome cookout and bonfire. Earlier in the day, each cabin did some icebreakers and had to come up with a science-related name for their cabin.

At the bonfire, they go around and introduce their cabins.

Jillian puffs her chest out as their appointed representative and announces the name the two of them suggested. “We’re…the Protons.”

The rest of the Protons cheer.

The other cabins introduce themselves and none stand out (the Robots, the Supernovas, the Meteorites, the Bunsen Burners) until one. A tall boy with a hook-like nose introduces his cabin as the Electrons.

Jillian elbows Erin’s side. “I smell a camp rivalry,” she whispers in Erin’s ear.

Erin laughs quietly. “Protons are supposed to be attracted to electrons, remember? Maybe there’ll be less rivalry and more…romance.”

Jillian makes a face like the thought disgusts her. “Ugh. No thanks.”

Erin stares across the fire at the Electron boys. Some of them are kind of cute, even though they’re all the types who would be called nerds and exist at the bottom of the social ladder in school. When you only compare them to each other, though, some of them aren’t that bad looking. One boy with untidy brown hair catches her looking at him and gives a tiny smile. Erin blushes.

“You like him?” Jillian asks.

“How could I? I don’t even know him,” Erin says, not taking her eyes off the boy.

Jillian hums.

 

The camp has all sorts of activities and discussions in different subjects depending on what you’re interested in. Because Jillian and Erin are interested in a lot of the same things, they end up in a lot of the same places. And they even end up in some activities they _aren’t_ interested in. Jillian sits through a class on math with Erin, and Erin joins her in a robotics workshop. Jillian doesn’t know a lot about robots, but she can build anything if she tries hard enough. Erin, on the other hand, is completely out of her element.

Luckily, they have to work in pairs to develop and build a robot over the next five weeks for a showcase and contest at the end.

Jillian runs her tongue along her top teeth. “Don’t worry, GG, I got this.”

“I can try to figure out the programming if you can build it,” Erin says.

Jillian holds her hand up for a high five. “Teamwork!”

The camp also has non-sciencey activities for them to help them connect with nature, or whatever. They try kayaking and end up in a two-person kayak together, paddling in circles out on the lake that the camp is nestled on.

“RJ—” Erin laughs— “RJ, stop—” She laughs more, unable to get the words out.

Jillian looks over her shoulder at Erin, losing it in her spot. “Stop what?” she says, letting a grin stretch on her face.

“ _Paddling_ like that! We need to coordinate!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, GG.” Jillian splashes her paddle in the water to prove her point, then flicks it up, showering both of them in water.

“ _Jillian!”_ Erin squeals.

Jillian cackles, her laugh echoing across the lake.

 

The Protons are having their own bonfire one night and roasting marshmallows. Well, the rest of them are roasting marshmallows. Jillian is burning them. Intentionally. Erin can hardly stand to watch it.

When her fifth one goes up in flames, she swings her stick up. “Look! Isn’t it pretty?”

“Get that away from me,” Erin says, ducking her head out of the flame’s way.

Jillian blows out the flaming marshmallow and swings the stick at Erin again, pretending to narrowly avoid hitting her head. “Wh-whooaa, whoa, I think I’m gonna hit—”

In all her joking, she accidentally brought the marshmallow too close, and it’s collided with Erin’s hair. Erin leaps off of her stump and out of the way, dropping her own stick and its partially-roasted marshmallow into the dirt. Her hand flies to the side of her head and comes back sticky.

“Jillian!”

Jillian at least looks sheepish. “Whoops. I didn’t mean to do that. Sorry, Er. I’ll help you wash it out.”

Erin grumbles as they make their way to the toilets (the one thing she loves about this camp is that there are actual buildings, no yucky outhouses). When they get there, Jillian instructs her to sit on the counter.

Erin hesitantly hops her butt up onto the counter while Jillian wets some paper towels. With extreme care and precision, she brings the soppy stack up to Erin’s hair. Cold water runs down her neck and she flinches away.

“Sorry,” Jillian murmurs.

“S’okay.”

“This isn’t working,” Jillian says after a few seconds. She throws the paper towel in the trash and then her fingers are running through Erin’s hair, carefully trying to pick out the sticky marshmallow.

Erin swallows. Jillian’s nose is all scrunched up, her brow furrowed, her eyes deep in concentration behind her yellow-lensed glasses. She’s grown into them a bit. They no longer fall off her face quite as much.

The one florescent light overhead flickers.

Jillian continues working through Erin’s hair, pulling out little white clumps of marshmallow and smearing them on another piece of paper towel. Her tongue pokes out between her lips.

“Just about done,” she says quietly.

The light flickers again, dims.

Jillian wets another sheet of paper towel with some soap, rings it out in the sink this time, and then runs it over the chunk of Erin’s hair.

The light flickers one last time and then goes out, plunging them into darkness.

Erin’s heart stops.

She’s afraid of the dark. Really afraid. Has been ever since the ghost.

“Jillian?” she says quickly, panicked.

Soft skin bumps her arm and then she feels Jillian’s hand on her wrist. “I’m here. I’m here, Erin.”

She can’t see her at all. “Jillian,” she says again.

“I know. I’m here. Hold on, I’ve got my flashlight.”

A few seconds later, the room illuminates with a narrow beam of light. Erin relaxes a bit.

“Come on,” Jillian says. “Hop down and we can get outta here.”

Erin wiggles off the counter.

Jillian grabs her hand. “Let’s go.”

She pulls her out of the building, following the beam from her flashlight, and outside into the forest. Erin feels safe with her, despite the dark. Jillian’s hand is sticky with marshmallow, but she doesn’t mind.

Then the flashlight blinks out.

“Crud,” Jillian says. “Erin?”

Erin’s panicking again.

Jillian squeezes her hand. “I’m still here. I have great night vision…I can lead us back, no problem.”

“Okay,” Erin manages to get out.

“We’ll go slowly so we don’t die.”

Erin makes a noise.

“From tripping over something, to be clear,” Jillian continues, clearly blabbering on to distract Erin. It’s working. “Although who knows what’s in these forests.”

“Bears, probably,” Erin says. Then she wonders if Jillian will remember what she’s referencing.

“Yeah. Probably bears,” Jillian replies, and Erin can hear the smile in her voice. So she does remember.

Wait, of course she does. She remembers everything. How could Erin have forgotten that?

Still gripping her hand tightly, Jillian leads them through the dark.

Before Erin knows it, they’re back in the clearing where the campfire is. Erin holds onto Jillian’s hand for a few more seconds before realizing that they’re out of danger and releasing it, embarrassed.

“Thank you,” she says.

“No problemo, GG,” Jillian says with a wide smile.

 

Jillian rolls onto her stomach on her bed and pokes her head over the edge. “Psst. GG.”

Erin’s head emerges below her. “What?”

“Let’s go exploring.”

“It’s almost curfew.”

“So?”

Erin hesitates, and Jillian can see her chewing on her lip. “Okay,” she says finally.

They pack up Erin’s backpack with Jillian’s flashlight (with freshly replaced batteries), jackets in case they get cold, and some of the snacks that Jillian smuggled into the camp.

One of the other girls in their cabin, Sahij, sees them.

“What are you doing?”

“Going on an adventure,” Jillian says.

“If you get caught out after curfew, the whole bunk will be punished,” Sahij says.

“So we won’t get caught.” Jillian throws Erin’s backpack over her shoulder and beckons her to follow.

As soon as they’re outside, Erin turns to her. “She’s right, you know.”

“You worry too much.”

That quiets Erin. The two of them walk through the forest.

“Where are we going?”

“Dunno yet,” Jillian says. “We should try and explore Cabin 13.”

Erin stops dead and grabs Jillian’s elbow to stop her, too. “No.”

“Come on, we could find out if it’s _really_ haunted!”

Legend has it, one of the kids who attended the camp back in the 60s died mysteriously in Cabin 13 and has haunted it ever since. The cabin’s still standing, but they don’t use it anymore.

“I don’t want to find out if it’s really haunted,” Erin says. “I’ve had enough ghosts to last a lifetime.”

“But dontcha want to see another one just to prove that they exist?”

Erin frowns. “Why do I have to prove they exist? I thought you believed me?”

“I do! I thought you wanted everyone else to believe you, too?”

“What good is seeing a ghost together, though? We’re still the only ones who will believe it.”

“But at least with two of us, they might believe us _more._ ”

Erin smooths down her bangs, which she always does when she’s nervous. “Fine. Let’s go.”

“Really?” Jillian says excitedly. “Score!”

 

Erin feels super uneasy as they make their way to the abandoned cabin, which is well out-of-bounds and off-limits to campers. The building has tall weeds growing up the sides of it and looks creepy as heck. She hangs back as Jillian approaches the building and peers through one of the windows.

“What do you see?” Erin calls.

“Darkness,” Jillian says. She moves over to the door and tries it, looking back at Erin excitedly when it opens. “Come on!”

“You go in first,” Erin says.

Jillian gets the flashlight and then drops the backpack on the ground outside the cabin. She steps inside and disappears from view.

Erin takes a few steps closer to the building. “RJ?”

“Come in! There’s nothing in here.”

Erin slaps away a mosquito and lingers by the door. She sticks her head in and sees Jillian on her hands and knees, looking under one of the bunk beds. There’s some light in the building, but not a lot. It seems to have far fewer windows than Cabin 3 does. Erin takes a deep breath and steps inside.

There are still blankets on the beds, but they have holes in them like they’ve been chewed by rodents. The air smells gross. Erin wrinkles her nose and gags.

“What’s that smell?”

“Smells like death,” Jillian sings. She sits up on her heels. “Something’s decomposing. What if it’s the dead kid?”

Erin covers her mouth in horror. “Jillian!”

“Kidding. They wouldn’t have left him here…unless they _did._ ”

“I’m leaving. I don’t like this,” Erin says, backing towards the door.

“No, wait! I’m only joking. It’s probably an animal. Don’t worry, I’ll find it!”

Erin stands by the open door and tries to suck in air from outside. Jillian roams around the bunk, swinging her flashlight beam in all the corners. Finally, she lets out a triumphant cheer.

“Got it! Looks like a rat.”

Erin shudders. Jillian strides over and hands her the flashlight.

“Hold this. I’m gonna get a stick.”

“To do _what?”_ Erin says as Jillian passes by and slips out the door.

There’s no answer. Erin waits. Looks around the deserted room. There is a funny feeling in the air. She’s got goosebumps even though it’s not cold. Maybe it _is_ haunted.

Jillian squeezes past her again holding a stick and a curved piece of bark. “You might wanna wait outside if you’re squeamish,” she says.

Erin doesn’t have to be told twice. She bolts out the door and waits out there for a few moments until Jillian emerges, holding the piece of bark far away from her body. Erin catches a glimpse of something brown and pink and turns her head away, feeling like she’s gonna barf.

She hears twigs snapping and bushes rustling as Jillian, presumably, takes it far away.

“You can look again, I’m back.”

Erin looks back to see Jillian, empty handed again.

“Are you going back in?”

“Hell yeah,” Jillian says. “Now we can properly look around.”

“It still stinks in there.”

“It’ll air out. Gimme the flashlight.”

Erin waits outside for another few minutes before she finally surrenders and goes back inside the cabin. As predicted, it still smells foul. She gags again and pulls her shirt up over her mouth and nose. She sees that Jillian has knotted her blue bandana from her hair over her own mouth and nose.

“We need an air freshener in here,” Jillian says, and even though Erin can’t see her mouth, she knows she’s smiling. She can see it in the way her eyes scrunch up.

Erin just rolls her eyes. “So what do you think? Haunted or not?”

“What do you think? You’re the ghost expert.” She says that sincerely, not sarcastically at all.

Erin’s pretty sure that seeing one ghost doesn’t make her an expert, but she plays along. “Well, we haven’t been here that long. We should probably wait a little longer and see if any ghostly activity happens.”

“Sounds like a plan. Good thing we brought snacks for a stakeout.” Jillian goes and grabs the backpack from outside and comes back in.

“Wait, wait, don’t eat anything without sanitizing your hands,” Erin says, pulling her travel container of wet wipes from her back pocket.

Jillian sticks her tongue out but holds out her hands. Erin passes her a wipe and Jillian washes off her hands. Then she pops the lid off her can of Pringles and lifts her bandana to shove three in her mouth.

Erin makes a face. “How can you be eating when it smells this bad?”

Jillian shrugs goofily. “They’re good. I love Pringles. You want one?”

Erin nods after a moment and Jillian holds the tube to her. Erin washes her own hands, then pulls out one and examines it.

“Haven’t you ever had a Pringle before?” Jillian asks. “You’re supposed to eat it, not stare at it.”

“It’s a cool shape, that’s all,” Erin says. “It reminds me of this math thing. A parabola? It’s like a big U shape.” She draws one in the air to illustrate.

“You and your math,” Jillian says, popping another one into her mouth. “All I see when I look at a Pringle is a tasty snack.”

Erin pinches her nose so she won’t be able to smell the air, and takes a bite from the chip.

 

Jillian eventually sits on the floor with her back against one of the bunk beds. Erin refuses to sit down on either the floor or a bed, not when there have been rats running around.

“What time is it?” Erin asks.

Jillian checks her big green watch, which likes to rotate on her wrist because it’s too big for her. “9:06pm,” she announces.

“We’re officially late for curfew,” Erin says.

“Ghosts are more important,” Jillian says.

They wait for a while longer. Erin looks uncomfortable standing, so Jillian takes her hoodie out of the backpack and lays it on the ground so Erin can sit on it.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Erin says, but she sits down anyway.

“It’s okay. It’s dirty anyway.” She doesn’t mind if a little rat poop gets on it if it means Erin will be more comfortable.

They sit across from each other, silent, listening for any ghost sounds. So far, there hasn’t been a single creepy moan, no unexplained bumps in the night, nothin’.

A swift breeze suddenly passes through the cabin, and Jillian’s arm hairs stand up. “Didya feel that?”

Erin nods excitedly, even if she does look a bit terrified. She lifts her bum up and scoots Jillian’s jacket across so it’s beside Jillian, then she sits down beside her. Her arm brushes against Jillian’s and it makes her heart beat a little faster.

“Are you scared?” Erin asks.

Jillian wants to say no, but she must be, if her heart is beating like it is. That’s how the autonomic nervous system works. “Yes,” she says.

They sit very still for a few minutes. Nothing else happens.

After a while, Erin rests her head against Jillian’s shoulder. Jillian swallows.

“I don’t think there’s a ghost here,” Erin says. She sounds sad. “Sometimes I wonder if they’re real at all.”

That surprises Jillian. A little hesitantly, she wraps her arm around Erin’s shoulders. “What are you talking about? Of course they’re real. You saw one!”

“What if I didn’t, though? What if I’m just crazy?”

“Ghosts are real, GG. I promise.” She pulls Erin in a little tighter.

“Thanks, RJ,” Erin says, her voice small.

Jillian kind of wants to hug her forever, to protect her, which is weird because Erin’s older than her. It’s also weird because the thing that Erin needs protecting from isn’t something that Jillian can really ward off, like a bully. The bully is inside Erin’s head.

She’ll try anyway, though.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, there's still another whole 7000 words of baby gays at summer camp :) I decided to go the splitting-up route, chapter wise, because in this section (and the next, actually) a LOT of important things happen and it seems better to unload it all on you in chunks!


	3. (all that time is gone)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for a small amount of blood, and an accidental bomb (that doesn't hurt anyone). And you should remember the abusive parent warning from the last chapter.

They go back to the abandoned cabin a few more times, but they never have any luck. Somehow, they never get caught for being out past curfew.

Their robot is coming along very well. They’ve named it the Ghost Lizard as a combination of both of their superhero identities, and it’s going to be able to fly with rockets _and_ shoot lasers out its mouth. It’s ambitious, but between the two of them, they’re going to make it happen.

As Jillian predicted, the Protons and the Electrons _do_ start a bit of a feud. A feud that Jillian herself starts, much to Erin’s horror. It begins with a traditional (and, looking back, tame) TPing of their cabin, which Jillian does with a few other Proton girls. Erin refuses to take part.

Then the boys fire back by putting frogs in Cabin 3.

Erin joins in after that, and they rig up a bucket of paint to fall in the Electrons’ cabin.

It’s all pretty standard summer camp stuff. The counsellors don’t seem too bothered by it. Apparently this happens every year between at least two of the cabins. It’s tradition.

The prank wars continue back and forth, led by Jillian and from the Electron side of things, a boy named Jackson.

One night, Erin wakes up to hands grabbing her and covering her mouth before she can scream. In the semi-darkness, she can make out the face of Jackson and a few other boys. They drag her out of bed, kicking and struggling, and take her all the way back to their bunk. There, they tie her hands together and tether her to the frame of one of the beds.

Their cabin smells yucky, like boy. They wrap a bandana much like Jillian’s around her mouth so she can’t talk and sit back to admire their work. Erin struggles against her restraints, getting angrier by the second under the gazes of the roomful of Electron boys. She catches the eye of the one boy who she saw at the welcome bonfire. His name is Teddy, she knows that now. He looks apologetic.

“Stop moving so much. You’re going to give yourself rope burns,” Jackson says. “We’re not going to hurt you. You’re just the bait.”

Bait? For what?

“See,” he continues, “we need to get your friend Jillian to come looking for you. That way, she’ll fall right into our trap. We left a ransom note in your bunk. Wonder how long it’s going to take?”

What trap? What are they going to do to Jillian? Erin pulls at the rope some more, trying to loosen it to no avail.

“Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’re going to go get in position,” Jackson says. He smiles a little evilly, pats her head, and leaves with most of the other boys behind him.

Only Teddy and another boy stay behind. Probably to guard her. She listens to the sound of the other boys mumbling outside.

“I have to take a leak,” the other boy says to Teddy. “Be right back. Don’t let her escape.”

As soon as he’s gone, it’s just her and Teddy. His eyes are remorseful. He pauses for a moment, then comes over to her.

“If I take off the bandana, do you promise not to scream?” he asks. “I swear, we aren’t going to do anything bad to your friend. It’s all just for fun, like the stuff you’ve done to us.”

Erin nods.

Slowly, he unties the bandana and lets it fall.

“What are they doing to her?” she says immediately, not screaming like she promised. What good would screaming do? Jillian wouldn’t be able to hear her from here, but it would alert all the counsellors.

“A coupla the guys are climbing up on the trees with buckets of maple syrup,” he confesses.

Oh. Okay, that’s fairly harmless. She’d still warn Jillian if she could, but at least they aren’t doing something really bad, something that could hurt her.

“I’m sorry about kidnapping you,” Teddy says. “I tried to convince them not to, or at least to get one of the other girls, but Jackson said it had to be you or Jillian might not come.”

Erin warms a little at the truth in that statement. She doesn’t think it’s going to be long at all before Jillian realizes she’s missing and comes looking for her. Erin can just picture her storming across the camp. She’s probably already plotting her revenge.

“Why does it have to be Jillian?” Erin asks.

Teddy shrugs. “She’s the leader, isn’t she? The one behind all the pranks? Plus, I’m pretty sure Jackson likes her.”

Erin tries to digest that information and puzzles over the way it doesn’t quite sit right in her stomach. “If he likes her, why does he keep pranking her?”

“What else is he supposed to do?”

“I dunno, tell her?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. She’s doing it, too.”

“Well, yeah, but not because…” Erin trails off. _Does_ Jillian like Jackson? Is that why she’s so passionate about pranking him? Wouldn’t she have told Erin if she did? She’s had lots of opportunities. They talk about the Electron boys all the time.

Then again, Erin kinda likes Teddy, and she hasn’t told Jillian about it. She’s not really sure why. Maybe because Teddy seems a bit immature and she’s a little embarrassed that she likes him. All the Electron boys are immature, though, and if Jillian _does_ like Jackson, then maybe she’ll understand.

The other boy comes back from peeing and frowns when he sees her. “Why’d you take her gag off?”

“She’s not gonna scream,” Teddy says.

“Whatever,” the boy says. “We just got word from Kyle that Blue Jay saw the note and is on her way. Apparently she looks _mad._ This is gonna be hilarious. We should untie the hostage and make her watch.”

“I have a name,” Erin says. “And what did you just call Jillian?”

“Blue Jay,” Teddy says. “Because her bandana and J for—”

“Jillian,” Erin finishes. “That’s a good one. Do you have a codename for me, too?”

Teddy looks hesitant to tell her. “Uh…Red Robin.”

“Oh.” She tries to figure that out. “Why?”

The other boy looks smug. “Your chest goes all red when you get angry.”

Well, it’s better than Ghost Girl.

“Enough chitchat,” the other boy says. “Get on your feet, prisoner.”

“Cool it, Sean,” Teddy says.

“I can’t get on my feet,” Erin says. “You guys tied me to the freaking bunkbed.”

Teddy appraises her. “Do you _want_ to watch the prank?”

She doesn’t, not really, but she also wants to know what’s going on. Maybe she’ll be able to warn Jillian, somehow. She nods.

Teddy carefully unties her from the bed and captures her wrists behind her back in his hands. “Sorry,” he says quietly. They lead her over to the open door, where she can see Jillian’s tiny form stalking in the distance. The sun is rising behind her. She looks furious.

Sean ties the bandana back around her mouth so she can’t say anything else. All she can do is watch as Jillian gets closer and closer, until she must see Erin’s form in the doorframe.

“Erin,” she calls, her voice panicked as she begins to sprint.

Erin’s eyes dart upwards to the trees, where she can make out the forms of several boys positioned around. They’re almost all up there. There’s no way at least _one_ of them won’t hit her.

Erin’s eyes go back to Jillian. _Turn back,_ she tries to communicate with her eyes. Then at the last second she realizes her head isn’t restrained and nods her chin up towards the sky.

Jillian falters, slows, and looks up.

And then the sky rains maple syrup. Well, _rains_ in the sense that a massive stream of it pours down and splatters all over Jillian. Like if a cloud let out all the water at once. Not like actual rain.

Jillian trips and skids in the dirt, no doubt skinning her knees. The rest of the boys huck maple syrup down at her. Some of it hits her and some of it misses.

Erin, finding the strength of ten Erins, breaks out of Teddy’s hold and runs.

 

Jillian isn’t quite sure what just happened, but whatever it was, it was pretty spectacular. She pushes herself up from the ground, feeling the sticky, heavy weight of whatever it is that they threw on her settling on her skin and in her hair. It smells sweet, sugary. Her palms are a mess of dirt, blood, and sticky brown stuff. Some of it runs into her mouth.

Maple syrup.

At least it’s tasty?

“Jillian!” Erin calls. Suddenly she’s right there, bent in front of Jillian, helping her up. Jillian can barely see through the sticky gloop, which is now running down from her face. Erin tries to wipe some of the syrup from her eyes, but it just makes it worse. Her eyes sting.

“I can’t see, Erin,” she says.

“It’s okay. I’m here. We’re going to get this washed off, okay?”

“Are you okay?” The last thing Jillian saw before they bombarded her, Erin was being confined by two Electron boys and had a red bandana wrapped around her mouth. She must’ve got free. What did they _do_ to her? Jillian doesn’t care about the maple syrup, but if they hurt Erin…

“I’m fine, RJ, really! I was just the bait to get you to come. They knew you would.”

Of course she would. It didn’t take her long at all to realize Erin was gone. She wasn’t snoring. She assumed she was in the bathroom, but when she didn’t come back after ten minutes, she crawled down to see the ransom note.

She figured it was probably a set up, but she would’ve never chanced Erin. There was no time to figure out a plan. She just had to go.

She hears the laughter of all the boys overhead.

“Good one, fellas!” she shouts good-naturedly. It really was a good one. “Kicking it up a notch, I see? Message received. You’d better be quaking in your boots, got it? This means war. You hear me? War!”

“Come on, come on,” Erin says, pulling her to her feet. “We gotta get outta here in case they have something else planned.”

Jillian doubts it, otherwise they wouldn’t be letting them go this easily. She follows Erin’s lead, almost completely blinded by the syrup at this point. Erin grips her arm tightly, probably getting covered as well.

They enter a building, presumably the bathroom, and Erin nudges her forward gently. She reaches her hand out and it hits a tiled wall.

“You’re in a shower stall,” Erin says.

“Cool,” Jillian says, and feels for the knob to turn the water on. She doesn’t even bother stripping out of her clothes, just tries to wipe the maple syrup from her eyes.

“I’ll go find you some new clothes and a towel,” Erin says. “Be right back.”

Jillian hears the sound of the door closing. She manages to get most of the syrup off her face and is able to open her eyes again. The floor of the shower stall is covered in globs of syrup and dirt and she realizes that some of her blood is swirling down the drain, too. She bends to examine the scrapes all up and down her shins and knees. They weren’t hurting before, but now that she’s aware of them, they’re starting to sting. Her palms, too, which are covered in shallow cuts and bits of gravel. They’re probably going to get infected from the syrup getting in. She’s going to have to go to the nurse’s station after this.

She pulls the shower curtain closed and starts to peel off her soggy pajamas, then lets them slop to the floor.

The door opens.

“RJ?” Erin calls. “I’m back.”

Jillian turns and peeks out from the side of the curtain. Erin’s holding a stack of clothes and some towels.

“I brought shampoo, soap, and a washcloth for you to scrub with. It’s pretty clean. And then I’ve got your towel and some clean clothes.”

“Thanks, GG. You da best.”

Erin hands her the washcloth, soap, and shampoo. Jillian can see now that Erin does have syrup down her arm and the side of her own pajamas. She doesn’t seem to notice.

“How are you so _fine?”_ Erin says. “I’d be crying right now if I was you.”

Jillian disappears back behind the curtain and sets the bottles on the built-in shelf. She soaps up the washcloth and starts scrubbing down her arms and legs.

“It was a good prank,” Jillian says simply. “I respect them for that. And I know that we’ll get them back with an even better one.”

She hears the sound of the tap starting and figures Erin’s washing off the syrup on her own body. There wasn’t much, so she can probably get away without a full shower.

When Jillian’s satisfied that she’s scrubbed down every inch of her skin, she reaches for the shampoo bottle. Seconds away from squeezing some into her palm, she catches herself.

That’s going to sting like a wasp on the cuts there. And is it really so smart to wash her hair with hands that are still kinda bleeding?

What is she supposed to do, though? Her hair is the worst part.

She contemplates for a full minute.

“Erin?” she says finally.

“Yeah?”

“Do…agh.” She blows out a puff of air. “My hands are all cut.”

“I figured,” Erin replies sadly. “What do you need? Should I go find some bandages or something?”

“No, it’s just…I don’t think I can wash my hair. Is there any way…” She shakes her head even though Erin can’t see her. “Never mind.”

“No, what?”

“Could you help me wash it?” Jillian says quickly.

There’s a long pause.

“Sure, of course,” Erin says. “You rescued me…it’s the least I can do. Do you want…um, to do it in the sink?”

“There’s kind of…a lot.”

“Of syrup?”

“Yeah.”

“So…no sink?”

“I don’t think so.”

“So you just want me to…”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Too weird?”

“No, it’s…okay. Um. Should…”

“I’m turning around.”

“Okay. Just say when…”

“I’m facing the other way.”

“Okay. I’ll just…”

“Hi.”

“Hi. Um. Where’s the shampoo?”

“Shelf.”

“Got it. I’ll just…oh, ew.”

“It’s bad, right?”

“Yes. It’s…that’s fine. I can…”

“You’re getting shampoo in my eye.”

“Shoot, sorry.”

“Now how will I know if you’re looking at my butt?”

“How would you know anyway?”

“Like _this_.”

“Your eyes are closed.”

“There’s shampoo in them.”

“Well, I’m not looking at your butt.”

“Good.”

“Turn your head back. There’s still a lot of syrup.”

“In my butt?”

“In your _hair._ ”

“Is it coming out?”

“A bit. Hold on, I need more shampoo.”

“Don’t get it in my eyes.”

“I’ll try.”

“Hey! I don’t think you’re trying at all. That felt very deliberate.”

“Sorry, sorry. If you’d stop _moving_ …”

“I’m cold.”

“So am I, but you don’t see me dancing all over the place.”

“I don’t see _anything._ There’s shampoo in my eyes.”

“Oh my _God_ , RJ. _Seriously?_ Okay. Hold on, I’ll…there. Any better?”

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Okay.”

“Are you done yet? This is taking forever.”

“You keep distracting me with your stupid eyes!”

“Excuuuuse me for wanting to be able to see things.”

“You’re really impatient.”

“I’ve been told.”

“Okay, I think I got as much out as I can. Get under the water to rinse it.”

“It’s cooold.”

“I _know_. Do it so we can both get outta here.”

“You’re still so mean to me, all these years later.”

“Oh, please. I’m washing maple syrup from your hair for you.”

“Friendship level _unlocked._ ”

 

From that moment on, all their free time is spent plotting how to get back at the Electrons. The other Protons stay out of it. They seem to know that this is Erin and Jillian’s war now. They tell them they’ll help out if need be, but everyone knows that Jillian will come up with a way better plan than any of them could.

And she does.

Erin is eating dinner in the mess hall when Jillian plunks her tray down and sits across from her.

“I’ve got it,” she says.

Erin looks up from her baked potato. “The prank?”

Jillian nods. “We might need to steal some supplies, but I’m pretty confident.”

“Supplies? Supplies from where?”

Jillian shrugs and digs into her own plate of food with gusto. “Here and there. You’ll help me, right?”

“Absolutely.”

(Later, Erin wonders if she should’ve asked what the plan was first before she agreed).

They set up shop in the abandoned Cabin 13, where they can build what they need to without any of the counsellors getting suspicious about what they’re up to. Admittedly, it looks kind of like a bomb.

Probably because it is.

Well, not a _real_ bomb. Just a stink bomb. But, as Jillian calls it, the Strongest Stink Bomb Ever.

Erin doesn’t ask why Jillian knows how to build _any_ type of bomb as an eleven-year-old. She knows that the answer is probably _because_. Jillian just seems to know how to do everything, and if she doesn’t know how, she figures it out anyway.

It takes Jillian three days to assemble the stink bomb, using scavenged supplies and a Swiss Army knife that she always carries around. By the time she’s finished, the stink bomb is quite impressive. It even has a remote detonator, just like a real bomb. The whole thing is a little scary looking, in Erin’s opinion.

They plan to set it off one night after the rest of the camp has gone to sleep. That way, they can get all the Electrons at once while they’re in their cabin. Jillian assures Erin that the stink bomb will be completely silent, or at least silent enough that it won’t wake the counsellors and get them in trouble.

That night, they wait, fully dressed in their beds, until after midnight. Jillian climbs down silently from the top bunk and Erin knows that’s her cue to follow her. They make their way outside quietly and walk quickly through the forest towards Cabin 13 to get the bomb from where they’ve stashed it.

They follow Jillian’s flashlight beam back through the forest to the Electrons’ cabin. Erin holds the flashlight while Jillian works quickly to set the stink bomb up outside the building, right by the windows. She swears it’s strong enough that it doesn’t need to be put inside for it to pack a punch. They creep back to the woods by Cabin 3, where they’ll be able to watch the fun but retreat inside to their beds at the drop of a hat.

“We should probably wait a little longer before we set it off,” Erin whispers.

At the moment she says that, she sees someone—a counsellor, probably—cross the camp. She shoves Jillian back deeper into the forest and fumbles the light off. They barely dare to breathe for fear of being caught, but the counsellor doesn’t seem to see them.

Erin’s heart is starting to race at the dark again, and without even saying anything, Jillian reaches out and takes her hand. That calms her.

They’re quiet for a few long minutes. Finally, Jillian whispers, “That was close.”

“You think they’re gone?”

“Yeah, definitely. You can turn the light back on, probably.”

Erin does, but she keeps her thumb on the switch just in case she needs to turn it off again.

Jillian leans against a tree. “I think you’re right…we should wait a bit.”

“Just to be safe,” Erin agrees.

There’s a long pause. Erin kind of wants to ask Jillian the question that’s been plaguing her for a week. After a few minutes, she can’t hold it back any longer.

“Hey, RJ?”

“Hm?”

“Do you like Jackson?”

“Jackson? I hate that guy! He’s my nemesis, remember?”

“No, I mean…do you like-like him?”

“What? Are you drunk?” Jillian laughs and Erin has to shush her.

“He likes you. Teddy told me. That’s why he’s playing pranks on you. I thought maybe it was the same with you.”

Erin can see Jillian’s raised eyebrows even in the dark, they’re that high. “He likes me? Like-likes me? Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“He does, I promise. So do you like him?”

“I told you, no. He’s my nemesis.”

“Oh.”

A twig snaps as Jillian shifts. “Do you?”

“Like Jackson?”

“No, Teddy. You do, don’t you?” There’s something in Jillian’s voice that Erin can’t quite figure out.

“Maybe,” Erin admits.

“He likes you back, doesn’t he?”

“I don’t know. He, um…he asked me if I wanted to go kayaking with him.” It was a few days after the maple syrup day.

“What’d you say?”

“I said I’d think about it.”

“He kidnapped you, you know.”

“I know. It wasn’t his idea, though. He felt really bad about it.”

“Oh. Well…have fun kayaking, I guess.”

Erin realizes what’s in Jillian’s voice. It’s jealousy. She must be jealous that a boy likes Erin back. That doesn’t make sense, though, because Jackson likes _her._ She supposes that doesn’t mean a lot if Jillian doesn’t like him.

“I’m kind of scared, though,” Erin says.

“Of kayaking? That’s why you wear a lifejacket, dummy.”

“No, not of kayaking, _dummy_ ,” Erin echoes. “I dunno, what if he wants to kiss me?”

“You’re right…that could be a problem in a kayak.”

“ _No,_ Jill-i-an,” Erin says, swatting Jillian’s arm between syllables. “On land.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, I haven’t…you know.”

“What?”

“I haven’t kissed a boy before. What if he has?”

“Kissed a boy?”

Erin shoves her. “Kissed a girl. God.”

“He could’ve kissed a boy. It doesn’t have to be a boy and a girl. Boys can kiss other boys and—”

“I _know_ , but that’s not what I meant. All I meant is what if he’s kissed someone before? I haven’t. I don’t know how. What if I do it wrong?”

“How could you do it wrong?” Jillian scoffs. “You just smoosh your mouths together.”

“Have you done it?”

“No, but how hard could it possibly be? I built a stink bomb, and I hadn’t done _that_ before.”

“Wait, you hadn’t?”

Jillian waves her hand. “Don’t worry. It’ll work just fine.”

“Okaaay, ignoring _that_ …I don’t think kissing is that simple.”

“What, as building a stink bomb? Pretty sure kissing is waaay easier. Less chance for things to go poof.” Jillian illustrates with her hands, which is a little concerning given she’s holding the actual detonator in one of them.

“No, as simple as just smooshing mouths together. What do you do with your hands? Where do your noses go?”

“I don’t think they leave your face.”

“Oh my God. You’re no help.”

“Whaddya want me to say? You could always practice.”

“On what, my pillow?” Erin snorts. “The other girls would laugh _so_ hard.”

“You could practice on me,” Jillian says.

Erin stares. Blinks.

_What?_

 

Jillian isn’t quite sure why she said that.

Sometimes she says things without thinking them through. Well, most times, actually. Dr. Hirata says she needs to work on her ‘filter.’

She doesn’t see a big problem with her suggestion, actually, but the way Erin’s staring at her makes her think maybe _she_ does.

“What?” Jillian says.

“What do you mean ‘practice on you’?”

“Exactly what you think it means? I have a mouth. Better than a pillow, right? You can figure out where your nose goes.”

“Wouldn’t that be weird, though?”

Jillian cocks her head to the side. “Why would it be weird? We’re friends.”

“Exactly?”

“It’s just practice, GG. It’s not for real.”

“Well, I _know_ , but still...”

“Come on, you know you wanna.” Jillian smacks her lips loudly in a kissy noise. “Prepare yourself for your daaate with Teddy.” As she says that, she gets a little twinge in her stomach like she ate bad Chinese food or something. She hasn’t had Chinese food, though, so she doesn’t know what that means.

“I do like being prepared…” Erin says.

“Pucker up.” Jillian makes more kissy noises.

“Wait, you don’t mean right _now,_ do you?”

“When else? We’re alone so nobody can make fun of you, plus it’s dark so you don’t have to look at me and you can pretend I’m Teddy.” Jillian lowers her voice an octave. “Hi, Erin, I’m Teddy. Do you wanna kiss me?”

Erin laughs. “He doesn’t sound anything like that.”

“So? Whaddya say?”

Erin bites her lip. “I guess practicing is a good idea…right? Like studying before a test?”

“You’d never go into a test without studying,” Jillian confirms.

“No, I wouldn’t.” Erin continues to chew on her lip.

“If you keep chewing like that, you won’t have any lips left to kiss Teddy with.”

Erin stops. “Are you sure this isn’t weird?”

“Nah. And even if it is, don’t we kinda live for weird?”

“ _You_ do. I don’t.”

“Good point. But might I add that earlier this week you washed maple syrup out of my hair? That was pretty weird. But you were helping me out, and now I’m just helping _you_ out. It’s no weirder.”

Erin nods at that and takes a step closer, leaves crunching under her feet. One of her hands is clenched around the flashlight, and the other is just clenched into a fist. Jillian peels herself off the tree she’s been leaning against and straightens up in interest. She didn’t think Erin would actually agree to this.

They meet in the middle, still standing with some distance between them, though.

“Umm…” Erin says. “I don’t…”

“Lips. Smoosh. Remember?”

“Okay, but—”

Jillian knows Erin is going to keep talking and overthinking, so she steps forward and smooshes their lips together. At first she kinda misses and only gets the corner of Erin’s mouth, then she moves so her lips are _actually_ on Erin’s.

Erin’s lips are really soft and warm, and wetter than Jillian expected. It should be unpleasant, but it’s not. It’s sorta nice.

Except Erin is just kinda standing there, and Jillian realizes that maybe there _is_ more to kissing than just smooshing lips together, so she moves hers a bit so they’re not just sitting there doing nothing, and then lifts her hand to touch the side of Erin’s face.

It’s around then that Erin’s lips move a little too, like they’re whispering something, which is nice, too.

Their noses don’t go anywhere. They stay right on their faces, like Jillian predicted. They nestle side by side, fitting together well, so that’s one problem solved.

Jillian always learns as she goes, trial and error, and this is no exception. She’s learning a lot.

For example, she’s learning that she really likes kissing Erin. Maybe more than she should, especially considering this is only supposed to be practice.

She realizes something, then, and she’s not sure why she didn’t realize it before. Some genius she is.

She likes Erin. Like-likes Erin. The kind of like that Erin was asking her about earlier.

She’s never like-liked anyone before, or at least she thought she didn’t, so she never really knew what people were talking about when they talked about crushes.

Now she realizes that she definitely has a crush on Erin. That’s why her heart beats so fast when Erin touches her, and why it feels like she’s swallowed Pop Rocks when she’s talking to Erin (which she thought was just because talking to Erin is exciting), and most of all, why she likes kissing Erin so much.

Huh. That’s interesting.

She wonders if she’ll like kissing other girls too, or only Erin? That’s probably a problem to work out some other time.

All this goes through her mind in a few seconds flat, because that’s how fast her brain always works. It’s really only been less than 10 seconds since they started kissing.

Suddenly, there’s a boom so loud that they both startle apart, and they’re lit up a lot more than they were a few seconds ago, and that’s when Jillian realizes something _else_ that makes her wonder if Dr. Hirata mixed up her test results all those years ago.

Her thumb is holding down the stink bomb detonator button.

Oops.

 

Half the camp seems to come running towards the explosion, and stupidly, so do they.

There’s a small blaze burning around the remnants of the stink bomb, which is sending up thick black smoke that smells just as awful as Jillian promised. Erin starts coughing.

“Stay back! Stay back!” one of the counsellors shouts.

“It’s a bomb!” someone else shouts.

“Evacuate the cabin! Everyone out of there, now!”

“Someone call the police!”

“Screw the police, someone call bomb disposal! What if there’s more of them?!”

“Wait, wait!” Jillian shouts, throwing her hands in the air. What is she doing? “It’s not a real bomb! Don’t call the police!”

The camp director pushes her way through the crowd that now contains all the Electron boys, who look equal parts scared, irritated, and impressed when they see Erin and Jillian standing there. She coughs into her elbow.

“What in God’s name is going on?”

“Jillian built a bomb,” Jackson says, pointing.

“It’s not a real bomb,” Jillian repeats.

“Everyone, get _back_ ,” the director shouts.

It’s utter mayhem.

It takes a good ten minutes for everyone to finally listen to Jillian about it not being a real bomb (although at this point, Erin’s not convinced). The counsellors have evacuated all the campers to down by the lake, and someone _did_ call the police, because they show up, too.

Erin is terrified. Is this going to go on her permanent record? What if she can never get into any college ever because she’s going to be the girl who tried to blow up a camp with her friend?

Jillian tries desperately to explain to the director and the police that it’s a stink bomb. The police (who yes, brought two bomb disposal experts and a trained dog with them) demand to know every single thing that went into it, how she built it, whether or not there are more of them, what her intentions were…

“It was just a prank,” Erin says, unable to watch Jillian being dragged through the coals alone. She may have been the one who designed, constructed, and detonated the bomb, but Erin was still a part of it the entire time.

The bomb squad contains the remains of the stink bomb and gets the flames put out while the police do a sweep of the rest of the camp with the dog to make sure they aren’t lying about there not being any more bombs. After they finally announce that it’s clear, the rest of the campers are allowed back to their bunks. They all give them glares as they pass by.

Erin, Jillian, Linda the director, and the police officers relocate to Linda’s office in the main building, where the police fill out an official report on the whole ‘incident,’ as they keep referring to it.

Jillian looks at Erin in a way that makes it seem like she’s thoroughly enjoying herself.

How could she possibly be _excited_ about having a permanent record?

After they fill out their report, they lecture the two of them for a _long_ time about the dangers of _any_ sort of explosives.

“You could have really injured someone, young lady,” the one officer says to Jillian. “Maybe next time you’ll consider the consequences before you mess around with things you don’t understand.”

Jillian nods. Erin hangs her head in shame.

When the police officers finally leave, Linda folds her hands and stares across her desk at them in a way that makes Erin feel small.

“It’s very late, so I’m sending the two of you to bed to think about your actions. But tomorrow morning, I’m going to be calling your parents and telling them what happened, and then I’ll decide whether or not to send you home early.”

Erin shrinks back in horror at that. Send her home early?

“Don’t punish Erin,” Jillian says. “I’m the one who built it. Erin did nothing wrong.”

Linda narrows her eyes. “Erin should’ve told a counsellor or myself about what you were doing. Erin is just as to blame.”

Jillian quiets.

“You will report back here first thing tomorrow morning, understood?”

They both nod.

Soon, they’re back out in the night, which has stilled considerably. Everyone is probably asleep again. It’s dark and Erin doesn’t know what happened to Jillian’s flashlight, so they walk quickly.

“That was awesome,” Jillian says, grinning at Erin as they scamper across the camp in the direction of Cabin 3.

“You nearly blew up the entire camp!” Erin hisses.

“It was a slightly bigger poof than I anticipated,” Jillian concurs merrily.

 

Jillian doesn’t forget about her kiss with Erin. She never forgets anything. Photographic memory, and all that. Although this time it’s more like a movie than a picture, and it keeps replaying over and over in her mind.

That’s what she thinks about as she tries to fall asleep. Not her ‘actions.’

At the crack of dawn, they trudge back to Linda’s office. She looks even more disapproving than she did last night, which Jillian didn’t think was possible.

She says she called their parents. Erin turns as pale as a ghost. Then she says she doesn’t see a point in sending them home early when there’s only a week left.

They both relax at that.

Except then she says that they have to be on kitchen cleanup duty for the rest of camp, and what’s worse— _much_ worse—they aren’t allowed to work on their robot anymore. They’re forbidden from entering the showcase and contest. The Ghost Lizard will never see the light of day. That breaks Jillian’s heart more than anything.

They’re dismissed to the mess hall for breakfast, where they get so many dirty looks that Jillian just has to say something.

“What’s wrong? You look like we tried to blow you up,” she calls cheerfully.

Erin elbows her, hard.

A few days later, it’s Erin’s birthday. Jillian risks all her freedom to break into the kitchen after hours and make her a cake in the microwave. When Erin finds out, she’s a little mad, but she seems happy. They sit side by side in Cabin 13 (even though they’ll get in heaps of trouble if they’re caught there) and swap a stolen fork back and forth to eat the cake right out of the mug Jillian made it in.

“Thank you,” Erin says.

“It’s not every day you turn thirteen,” Jillian says. “Gotta celebrate it right.”

“I think this is the first birthday I’ve spent with a friend since I was seven,” Erin says.

Jillian is quiet for a moment. “Then it’s a good thing we’re together.”

Erin lets the fork stand up in the mug and pulls her knees up to her chest. Jillian sets the mug on the floor.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m just sad.”

“About your birthday?”

“No…about camp ending. I have to go back to school in a few weeks. Without you.”

Jillian picks at the scabs on her shins from the maple syrup incident. “I know.”

“Why can’t you beg your mom to let you come back to school?”

Jillian shrugs. “I’ve already learned stuff from high school. Middle school would be boring.”

Erin twists so she’s facing Jillian completely and wraps her fingers around Jillian’s forearm, gripping tightly. “But we’d be together.”

Jillian swallows. “I know. I’m sorry, Erin. I can’t.”

Erin slumps back into place in defeat, releasing Jillian’s arm. “It’s okay.”

“Hey,” Jillian says, desperate to cheer her up, “for the next month you’re _two_ years older than me. That’s gotta feel awesome.”

Erin laughs. “That’s not how time works. I’m only a year and one month older than you and that never changes.”

“You know what I meeaaan.”

“It’s kinda cool that the universe is billions of years old and we were born only a year and one month apart.”

“Well when you put it that way, that’s no time at all.”

“Exactly.”

“Science is cool,” Jillian says with a grin.

 

Camp draws to a close.

Erin does go out kayaking with Teddy, and they kiss down by the lake afterwards. His lips aren’t as soft as Jillian’s were, and he’s so slobbery that she has to wipe her mouth off with the bottom of her shirt. It’s not very nice at all. She wishes she hadn’t done it. She doesn’t know why she was so excited at the prospect. It just ended up a letdown.

She never tells Jillian about it, and Jillian never asks.

The robot showcase comes and goes, and first place goes to Jackson and his partner Heng.

“Ours would’ve won,” Jillian says in Erin’s ear, crossing her arms with an irritated look on her face. Erin’s pretty sure she’s right.

They spend their last night together washing dishes in the kitchen while the rest of the campers are at the goodbye bonfire. Erin doesn’t mind much. They talk and laugh and throw soapy water at each other and Erin realizes just how much she’s going to miss Jillian’s company.

“I’m going to miss you,” she says.

“I’m gonna miss you too,” Jillian says sadly. “What if we meet up at the library again like we used to?”

“That’s too hit and miss,” Erin says. “Can’t you just call me?”

“Right. Phone book.”

Erin laughs. “I’ll give you my phone number just to be extra sure you have it.”

They finally finish the dishes and get to go outside for the last twenty minutes of the bonfire. They each get a few final s’mores in. Jillian cooks and eats a record fifteen by shoving five marshmallows on her stick at the same time.

“Efficiency,” she says, and winks at Erin.

Erin rolls her eyes and licks melted marshmallow from her fingers.

The next day, they pack up their bags slowly, trying to prolong their departure. They don’t say much. Their robotics counsellor finds them and gives them their incomplete robot and says he convinced Linda to let them take it home.

Jillian’s whole face lights up as she takes it and cradles it in her arms like a baby.

“You can keep it,” Erin says. “You built it.”

“You mean it?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll keep working on it,” Jillian promises, her eyes shining a little.

They walk up to Cabin 13 one last time to say goodbye to it. Jillian pulls out her Swiss Army knife and carves _GG & RJ WERE HERE _into one of the trees outside the abandoned cabin.

“Was that a present from Mark?” Erin asks as she watches her do it. She doesn’t remember Jillian having a Swiss Army knife back when they were in school together.

Jillian shakes her head, her tongue poking out between her lips as she concentrates. “My mom gave it to me. She said I can do anything in the whole world as long as I have the right tools.”

“That’s really nice,” Erin says, although it makes her heart hurt a little, too. What she wouldn’t give to get thoughtful presents from her mother. She’s always been a little jealous of Jillian’s relationship with her mom.

When the carving is done and Jillian is admiring her work, Erin hears a soft ‘click’ noise.

“What was that?” she says. Was it the ghost?

“Photographic memory,” Jillian murmurs.

“Oh,” Erin says. She knows what that means—Jillian is making sure she’ll never forget.

They go back to Cabin 3 and say goodbye to the rest of the Protons, who have forgiven them for the bomb incident. The rest of the camp hasn’t, but the Protons know it was for the war.

Then Erin’s dragging her suitcase across the camp for the last time while Jillian walks beside her with her duffle bag swinging and the robot tucked under her arm. Erin doesn’t know where Teddy is, but she doesn’t really care at all about saying goodbye to him. He’s just a boy.

She does care about Jillian.

They only go as far as the short path that goes to the parking lot. It’s unspoken that they both don’t want to go all the way there and have their parents intruding on their goodbye. Especially when Erin knows hers will be furious about the bomb.

They stand there and stare at each other. Jillian drops her duffle bag to the ground and dust kicks up. Erin coughs and watches Jillian’s lip wobble as she sets the robot down on top of the duffle bag.

“You’ll call me?” Erin asks, anxious already.

Jillian nods like a bobblehead. “Every day.”

Erin laughs but a few tears well up in her eyes. “That’s a lot.”

“Don’t care,” Jillian says.

Erin steps forward and wraps her arms all the way around Jillian, pulling her into the tightest hug ever. Jillian grips her back with just as much intensity.

“I’m gonna miss you so much,” Jillian mumbles, her voice muffled by Erin’s shirt.

Erin’s really crying now. “I’m going to miss you more.”

She clings onto Jillian, not wanting to release her because she knows that once she does, they’ll have to go down that path to the parking lot and part ways.

She knows it’s inevitable, though.

Finally, they break apart and Erin sees that Jillian’s face is wet, too. She rubs at her eyes with the back of her hand and picks up the robot and her duffle bag again. Erin grabs the handle of her suitcase and sniffles.

“So this is it, then,” Jillian says. “Um…I just wanna say that I’m really, really happy we both ended up at camp together. It wouldn’t have been nearly as awesome without you here. And I’m justreallyhappywe’refriendsagain.”

Erin sniffles again and nods. “Me too. I wish we never had to leave.”

“You think you’re going to come back next summer?”

Erin thinks about her parents, how much she had to beg them to let her come this year, how angry they’ll be about the bomb. “I don’t think my parents will let me,” she admits.

Jillian looks crestfallen. “Oh.”

“We’ll talk on the phone though, right? Maybe we can make plans to meet up.”

“Right. Definitely,” Jillian says. “Okay.” She puffs her cheeks and blows out loudly. “It’s time to go.”

Erin’s grip on her suitcase handle tightens. “I know.”

Jillian hugs her again, just a quick one-armed one this time. “Bye, GG.”

“Bye, RJ.”

With that, they walk down the path, and once they get to the parking lot they split up and walk in opposite directions. Erin resists the urge to look back over her shoulder.

When gets to her car, her mom and dad are standing outside it, looking angry. Her dad snatches her suitcase and throws it in the truck.

“You are in enormous trouble, young lady,” he snaps.

Erin listens to them yell at her for the entire drive back to Battle Creek, not really hearing any of it at all. She’s thinking about Jillian.

She misses her so much already. It’s like she’s suddenly missing an arm or leg, but it still hurts. She read about that one time—when people actually _do_ lose an arm or leg and it still hurts where it used to be even though there’s nothing there at all anymore. It’s called ‘phantom pain.’

That’s ironic.

She almost laughs out loud at her joke and makes a note to tell Jillian because she’ll appreciate it, then remembers a second later that Jillian’s gone. She’ll just have to tell her over the phone.

Except when they get home, the first thing her parents say is that she’s grounded.

“No leaving the house except for school, and your phone privileges have been revoked,” her mother says. Then, under her breath and snidely, adds, “Not that you have any friends to call.”

No phone? But what about Jillian?

Erin goes up to her room and all she can do is cry. And cry some more.

Somewhere amidst the tears, she digs through her bottom dresser drawer until she finds the smooth edge of a file folder that she hid there two years ago. She pulls it out and rips up the tape holding down the small lizard pin that Jillian once gave her. She clutches it in her fist childishly and opens the folder to find the Ghost Girl and Reptilian Jillian comic, then she spends the rest of the day in bed reading it and rereading it until she has it memorized word for word, tracing her finger over the drawings and trying to absorb some of the superheroes’ butt-kicking powers.

That evening, the phone rings and she hears her mom answer it.

“Hello, Gilbert residence. … Who? … Well, you can’t talk to her. She’s banned from the phone indefinitely. Don’t call here again.”

Erin’s heart breaks all over again.

Jillian doesn’t call every day like she promised she would. She never calls the house again. Not once.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A good song for this chapter/section/fic, if you're interested, is A Great Big World's [Where Does the Time Go](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DLDb5hnXps0). 
> 
> There's a lot of very important stuff in this chapter, so hopefully I didn't post too much at once and you were able to take it all in? Let me know what you think so far. This is one of my favourite chapters.
> 
> Oh, and if you thought a certain scene sounded familiar, you can thank Nancy Holder. In fact, considering it was the scene that inspired the whole fic, you should really thank Nancy Holder for that, too. :)


	4. some things are long forgotten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this section, there are a few songs that play, so if you want the full reading experience, I've hyperlinked them.
> 
> Also: trigger warning in this chapter for a car accident.

iii.

Jillian thinks about Erin every day.

She thinks about her at home alone with her mean parents who won’t let her use the phone. She thinks about her going to school with mean kids who say nasty things and beat her up. She wishes desperately she was there to protect her, to shield her. Not that Erin can’t protect herself…they’re just both stronger when they’re together.

She also thinks about what it was like kissing Erin, and wonders if she’ll ever get to do it again.

On her twelfth birthday, a show called the X-Files premieres and she falls in love with it instantly. She wonders if Erin’s watching it, too. It seems like a show that Erin would love. She wishes she could talk about it with her, share all her theories. She knows Erin would have some excellent theories of her own.

Jillian’s homeschooling continues. Her math and science tutors are impressed with her progress. Her mom is so proud of her. Even though she’s learning extremely advanced subjects, they tell her they’re pacing her so she doesn’t end up going off to college at thirteen or something, like one of those child geniuses. Well, she supposes she _is_ one of those child geniuses, but still.

Her, her mom, and Mark move out of the apartment that she grew up in and into a house. A real house, in a cul-de-sac in the suburbs. She doesn’t mind as much as she thought she would. Her room is much bigger in the house, and she’s got a section of the garage all to herself as a workshop. She works on the robot, like she promised. She gets it completely functional and watches it hover a few feet off the ground in the driveway and zap a tin can with its laser mouth. She wishes Erin were here to see it.

When she turns thirteen, the year she would’ve been entering high school with Erin, she thinks about her some more and hopes that high school will be better for her than elementary and middle were. For the millionth time, she wishes she was there with her.

Then something happens that completely takes her mind off Erin.

Her mom and Mark tell her they’re having a baby. A _baby._

Jillian is a teenager, and she’s going to have a baby sibling. They tell her on Christmas, like it’s a present.

She feels like a dumb little kid for this, but she cries about it. She’s never been the kind of only child who desperately wishes for a sibling. It was always her and her mom, until it wasn’t.

But sharing her mom’s love with Mark isn’t that hard. It’s a different kind of love, and she always knew that Mark couldn’t change their relationship. But this? A baby? Definitely can.

Her mom is going to love the baby in the same way that she loves Jillian. Her love is going to be _split_ between them.

She doesn’t cry in _front_ of them. But she does cry.

Then she gets over it.

Her mom has a little boy in July, names him Luke, and Jillian suddenly has a baby brother.

The first time she holds him, he wraps his fist in a death grip around her finger. “The force is strong with this one,” she says.

 

High school is mildly better than middle school was. Everyone still calls Erin Ghost Girl, because apparently that nickname is _never_ going to leave her alone, but that’s pretty much the worst of it. The best part of high school is that there’s way more to learn. More math, more science, electives, and she even takes Spanish, although she has a really hard time with it. She throws herself into her studies, determined to graduate with a 4.0 GPA.

She gets a part-time job waitressing, too, mostly so she can spend as many hours out of the house as possible. Her parents calmed down a long time ago about the science camp bomb scare, but they’re still pretty unpleasant to be around.

One day, she’s taking down a customer’s order when she _swears_ she sees Jillian on the other side of the street from the restaurant. For a few moments, she seriously considers bolting outside to find out, even though she’d probably get fired.

She completely misses half the order, and has to get the customer to repeat it all. By the time she looks up again, the person who was maybe Jillian is gone.

She tells herself that she needs to stop looking for her. She needs to forget about her. She tries to recapture her old ‘don’t need anyone’ attitude.

She’s made it through almost five years of school completely alone, and that doesn’t even include the time before she met Jillian. She can do this.

Every once in a while, someone will throw a crumpled up ball of paper at her back in class, or graffiti her locker, or do something else that hurts just a _bit_ more than being called Ghost Girl, and she reacts by shrinking herself even smaller, trying to make herself even more invisible. The Erin she was at camp, the Erin who helps build robots and bombs, who kisses boys by lakes, who breaks rules and stays up late and has fun, that Erin can’t exist anymore. That’s just not who she is in school. She’s not Ghost Girl the superhero, she’s Ghost Girl the crazy loser. That’s who she is without Jillian.

She keeps her head down. She can almost tune everyone out. She gets really good at it.

The summer she turns sixteen, she works full time and gets her provisional driver’s license. For her birthday, her grandmother—on the cusp of being moved into a home permanently—gives Erin her old car. Erin doesn’t know much about it, other than the fact that it’s grey and old (much like the woman who gave it to her), but it runs. And it’s free.

That’s the best kind of car, in her opinion.

Suddenly, Erin has even more freedom, and can take herself to-and-from work without relying on her parents at all. It’s liberating.

Sometimes she goes for long drives around town by herself, and she tells herself she isn’t _looking_ , not really.

(She totally is).

She starts her junior year with lower expectations than ever. _Only two more years_ , she repeats to herself over and over. Then she can get away from all this, away from these kids who she’s grown up with, who know too much about her past. Soon, she’ll be at college, where _nobody_ will ever know about Ghost Girl. Nobody will ever know that she once saw a ghost.

On her first day, she sits down in AP Physics at the very back of the classroom, where nobody will throw stuff at the back of her head. This is a strategy she’s learned over the years. It helps a lot if you can see what’s coming at you so you can duck out of the way.

For example, right now what’s coming at her is a girl who she’s never seen before, with brown hair and glasses, a black cardigan, and a messenger bag slung across her chest.

Erin tries to give a warning with her eyes, a mental _don’t sit down, don’t sit down_ , but the girl sits on the stool next to her anyway.

“Hi!” she says. “I’m Abby. I’m new here.”

“Erin,” Erin mutters. She busies herself by lining up three pens beside her notebook and hopes the girl will get the hint.

“Is that a briefcase?”

Erin’s head snaps up and she glares defensively. “Leave me alone.” She likes the briefcase. It’s brown leather, pliable but sturdy. She bought it for herself, one of the few purchases she’s made with her paychecks. She’s saving for college.

“Jesus,” the girl says, holding up her hands. “Who peed in your Cheerios this morning? It was just a question.”

“Listen,” Erin says, “if you’re looking for someone to be your friend and show you around, or whatever, I’m not that person. Okay?”

“Who says I want to be friends with _you?_ ” the girl says. “I don’t forge friendships with arrogant buttwads.”

Good. Erin doesn’t need friends. Friendships just end in sadness, in her experience.

“Hey, Ghost Girl, see any ghosts over the summer?”

Erin doesn’t know exactly who says it. She doesn’t even look up from her notebook, just flips off the general direction that the voice came from.

“You’ve seen a ghost?” the girl says, suddenly alert and almost eager-sounding.

“No,” Erin says.

“You have, haven’t you?”

“Leave me alone,” Erin repeats.

“What did it look like? What class was it? Colour, shape, sounds, smells? Did it ectoproject?”

What the hell is she going on about?

“Ectoproject?” Erin says despite herself.

The girl mimes barfing.

Erin watches her for a few seconds. “You’re making fun of me,” she says finally.

“I’m not,” the girl says. “I happen to be a paranormal enthusiast, and if you’ve actually seen a ghost, I want to hear about it.”

Erin eyes her warily. Paranormal enthusiast?

Erin’s days of wanting to know more about ghosts, to prove their existence, are long behind her. Thinking about ghosts just reminds her of Jillian and the days they spent discussing them in elementary school. The days they spent camped out in Cabin 13, waiting for a sign of paranormal activity.

She shakes those thoughts from her head.

“I don’t like talking about it,” she says.

The girl exhales loudly. “Oh, come _on._ That’s not fair. I happen to sit beside someone who’s had a first-hand spectral encounter, and now you’re saying you’re not going to tell me about it? Ugh.”

She sounds sincerely disappointed.

“Maybe…maybe I could,” Erin says before she can think it through. “Not here, though.”

The girl perks up again. “At lunch, maybe?”

Erin nods slowly. “Okay.” She considers the girl for another moment or two. “What did you say your name was, again?”

“Abby. Abby Yates.”

Erin sticks out her hand for a shake. “Nice to meet you, Abby Yates.”

“Likewise, arrogant buttwad.” She says that with a smile this time.

Erin keeps her promise and tells Abby about the ghost at lunch. Abby sits captivated through the story, interjecting question after question, and even takes some notes in a small purple notebook she gets from her bag.

They have more classes together. Most of them, actually. It’s impossible not to talk to her when she’s always around. Every day, they talk more and more. Usually about the ghost.

They hang out at lunchtimes, too. They eat their packed lunches in Erin’s car, where they can talk louder about ghosts without worrying that the other students will overhear.

Then their conversations expand beyond ghosts. More specifically: the X-Files. Abby’s just a big of a fan as Erin is. They discuss (read: argue about) their respective theories at length, both about the plausibility of the things that happen in the show _and_ about the budding romance of Mulder and Scully.

(Abby doesn’t see it. Erin’s adamant that it’s happening. They argue for weeks).

Before Erin really knows what’s happening, she’s found another friend.

Abby’s nothing like Jillian. She’s louder. More normal. More headstrong. More likely to rub people the wrong way. While Jillian dealt with bullies by drawing a comic where they defeated them, Abby will straight-up yell at people until they cut it out.

Erin doesn’t mean to compare them, but she can’t help it. When you’ve only ever had two real friends in your life, it’s hard not to put them side by side like the world’s most judgmental ‘spot the differences’ game.

Her interest in ghosts resurfaces. It’s hard not to absorb Abby’s enthusiasm about them. They do research together, devour every book they can find on the paranormal. They cross-check and make notes in Abby’s purple notebook.

“Half this stuff isn’t even real science,” Erin says in frustration one lunch.

Abby looks over from the passenger seat of Erin’s car, where she’s got her feet up on the dashboard. “We could do better.”

“We _should_ do better,” Erin says. “I think we could prove the existence of the paranormal so long as we do real research and science.”

“I agree,” Abby says. “We need to find a ghost, though. That’s what we need to do.”

That’s how they start hanging out outside of school. They drive and check out supposed haunted sites in Battle Creek, but they don’t find anything.

Then, Abby starts inviting Erin over to her house.

It’s weird. She hasn’t been over to a friend’s house since she was seven.

They watch X-Files together, both new episodes and old ones that Abby’s recorded. They look back over details they may have missed before to bulk out their theories. Erin tries to compile evidence for the Mulder and Scully romance front, but Abby still doesn’t see it.

(Later, she finds out that Abby doesn’t really understand romance, and that explains a lot).

They spend all their time together. Erin almost wants to quit her job just so she can spend more time with Abby, but she doesn’t.

They have sleepovers where they stay up all night doing ghost research and talking about school and life. Abby talks about her childhood and her family. Erin learns that Abby’s mom has a doctorate in chemical physics, and they moved from Rochester to Battle Creek so she could work fortifying cereal with vitamins and minerals. Erin thinks that’s _so_ cool.

She meets Dr. Yates, and is a little star struck. She’s really nice, though. She’s exactly like the mom Erin wants, and she secretly wishes the Yateses would adopt her. Abby’s dad is a cheery fellow, a pharmacist, who cracks a lot of jokes and makes sure they always have enough snacks.

It feels like home.

Erin isn’t used to this, this kind of friendship. It feels normal. Safe. Secure. The kind of friendship she reads about in books. It’s not like her wacky, unconventional friendship with Jillian. Sure, it’s still a little weird (she’s pretty sure friendships in books don’t involve so much talk of the paranormal), but at least Abby is actually _around_ and Erin doesn’t have to worry about her up and leaving. Abby is very direct about stuff and would tell her first.

They decide to start a paranormal investigation club at school, just in case there are others who share their interests and want to help with their research. They dub it the Metaphysical Examination Society and meet every lunch hour at a table in the cafeteria so that other people can join them if they want.

(Nobody does, but they keep meeting anyway).

They talk about conducting real paranormal investigations and stakeouts, but it’s hard when you don’t have a lot of money to spend on fancy equipment.

Abby sighs. “I wish I knew how to build this kind of thing. We would barely have to fork over any cash if we made them ourselves.”

Erin almost says that she knows someone who would _definitely_ be able to build them the equipment they need, but she bites her tongue. Sure, Jillian would probably be a tremendous help, but she’s also not _here_ , so what’s the point in saying anything?

The two of them talk about maybe going to the same college so they can have access to more materials and can really give their research the kick that it needs. Erin tries to contain her excitement about the possibility.

Everything is falling into place perfectly.

She can almost, _almost_ , forget that a part of her still feels missing.

 

It’s the summer of Jillian’s fifteenth year, a few days before Luke’s second birthday, and her mom drags her out on a last-minute errand to get stuff for his party.

She doesn’t mind that much. She likes going out on drives, and she _really_ likes alone time with her mom. It rarely happens anymore, not since Luke was born. She loves the kid, but he sure is an attention suck.

They drive along the highway and the sun beats down on Jillian through the windshield. She lets her hand trail out the open window while wind blows a chunk of her hair in her mouth.

_[I’ll Be Missing You](https://youtu.be/-fesv7_fXvs) _ is playing on the radio. It’s been playing on the radio all summer. Jillian sings along. She knows all the lyrics by now.

“You like this song?” her mom asks, looking over at her from the driver’s seat with a smile.

“Everyone likes this song,” Jillian replies.

She knows the song is about someone dying, but it kinda makes her think of Erin when she hears it. Not all the lyrics, just some of them. That’s probably still pretty morbid, but she can’t help it.

“It’s so sad, don’t you think?” her mom says.

“The song?”

“No, that boy dying. The one who the song is about. He was so young.”

Jillian is about to respond to that when she sees something out of the corner of her eye that turns her blood cold.

It’s a car on the other side of the highway, swerving all the way into their lane, barreling right at them.

Jillian doesn’t have enough time to shout, to warn her mom, because at that moment the car collides right into the red ’82 Chevy C10 that Jillian loves so much and there’s a deafening crunch and the sound of glass shattering and Jillian screams too late as she’s thrown hard against her seat and her vision goes black around the edges and she feels pain, pain, so much pain, and when she inhales it feels like she’s being stabbed and she smells smoke and fire and something wet runs down her face and into her mouth and it tastes like metal and that _song_ is still playing on the radio and in her speckling vision she sees her mom slumped over the steering wheel and beside her on the dashboard Marge the hula girl is still dancing, so Jillian stretches her hand and rips her from her duct tape confines and her fingers close around her tiny plastic body and she holds her tightly in her fist and the black spots get bigger and her eyelids get heavier and she lets them close and…

She sleeps.

_Just the two of us forever, baby._

 

Erin is sitting on Abby’s couch and watching a news report about a bad accident on the highway. They could even hear the sirens going by about a half hour ago.

_“Traffic is still backed up in both directions following a severe multi-vehicle crash earlier this afternoon.”_

Abby steps back into the living room balancing a large bowl of popcorn and two bottles of Coke.

“What the hell are you watching the news for?”

“Dunno,” Erin murmurs.

_“There have been two confirmed fatalities so far.”_

“Ugh, that’s depressing. Just turn it off. I told you to get the movie ready.”

“ _There are reports that another occupant of one of the cars was taken to the hospital with life-threatening injuries, but not much is known about—”_

Erin shuts off the news while Abby slides the movie into her VCR player, then comes and sits next to Erin, wedging the bowl of popcorn between them.

Erin doesn’t pay much attention to the movie. She’s distracted, and she’s not really sure why. She just has this weird, uneasy feeling like something is wrong, but she can’t for the life of her figure out what it might be.

 

Jillian wakes up.

She wakes up, and she’s in the hospital, and that means she’s alive. There’s a steady beeping noise and an IV line in her hand and a tube down her throat and her vision is blurry but at least it isn’t black.

She lifts her head and the room spins. She drops it back against the pillow.

Everything hurts.

There’s a flurry of motion and through her blurry vision she sees Mark leaning over her.

“Jillian? Jillian?”

She wants to respond, but she can’t because the tube in her throat. She blinks, and her vision clears a bit.

“I’m going to call a nurse,” Mark says.

It’s exhausting keeping her eyes open. She closes them again.

When she opens her eyes again, the room is dark, and for a second she thinks her vision has gone black again.

She hears the heart rate monitor beeps quicken as panic chokes through her, and then the light turns on and she realizes that it’s just nighttime now. The beeping slows back down. A whole hoard of nurses and doctors surround the bed and behind them, she sees Mark again.

“Jillian?” one of the doctors says. “Do you know where you are?”

She manages the tiniest nod possible.

“You were in a car accident Tuesday afternoon,” the doctor says.

_A crunch of metal. The smell of fire._

“You sustained multiple injuries. Internal bleeding, a dislocated shoulder, punctured lung, broken wrist, concussion, multiple cuts and lacerations…” the doctor continues to list Jillian’s injuries but she’s not listening anymore.

_Her mom’s body wilting over the steering wheel._

She waits until the doctor stops talking. Waits until a nurse has measured her vitals. Waits until everyone has cleared.

Mark stands at the foot of the bed.

If there wasn’t a fucking tube down Jillian’s throat, she would’ve already asked the question.

But there is a tube.

And there’s also Mark’s face.

He steps closer, comes to sit down in a chair right beside the bed. His hand hesitates over her for a few seconds, then very gently brushes her hair off her face.

“You were in surgery for a long time,” he says. She’s never heard his voice sound so small, so vulnerable. “You’ve been asleep for days. They didn’t know—” He inhales sharply. His eyes are watery. “I’ve been here with you the whole time. Luke is with my mother.”

Jillian’s eyes well up at the word. _Tell me_ , she wants to scream.

He wraps his hand loosely around her fingers, holding her hand without disrupting the IV. “I’m so glad you’re going to be okay. Oh, Jillian, I was so scared for you. So scared.” His voice is hoarse like he’s been crying a lot.

She blinks. Tears spill over from her eyes and track down her cheek.

_Please tell me_.

He crumples. “I’m sorry, Jillian. I’m so sorry.” His voice breaks on the word.

He never says it.

He doesn’t have to.

She knows.

 

Erin is cleaning up a table at work. She gathers the departed customer’s plate, his cutlery, his used napkins. She pockets the tip. She reaches for the newspaper he left behind. It’s open to the obituaries.

She happens to see a name.

_Kathleen (Kathy) Holtzmann_

_November 7, 1965 – July 15, 1997_

_A loving mother and wife, Kathy_

_made everyone’s lives better simply_

_by being in them. Always smiling,_

_she was our sunshine. Kathy is survived_

_by her husband, Mark, and her two_

_children, Jillian (15) and Luke (2)._

_Never forgotten._

Erin’s heart stops. She feels numb.

July 15th. That was the day of that bad car accident.

Erin runs her fingers along the words. She reads the words _survived by her two children_ over and over again. Jillian has a brother?

Jillian’s mom is dead.

The thought punches a hole through Erin’s gut. She can only imagine the anguish Jillian is feeling right now. She loved her mom so much.

Erin desperately wishes the obituary said something about a service. She would go. She would go in a heartbeat.

But she doesn’t know what to do. What she _can_ do.

She tears out the obituary and shoves it in the pocket of her apron.

When she gets home from work, she flips through the phone book desperately.

There’s no listing under Holtzmann.

It’s probably under Mark’s last name, but she doesn’t know what it is.

She throws the phone book at the wall.

 

Jillian spends the rest of the summer first in the hospital, then in physical therapy, then locked in her bedroom.

Mark buys her a TV for her room and she sits in her bed, wrapped in blankets even though it’s summer and it’s sweltering, and she watches X-Files all day every day. She works her way through the tall stack of VHS tapes labeled by episode that she’s recorded. She watches them over and over and over until she can recite every line by memory, could probably act them out down to the facial expressions.

She tapes Marge to the top of the TV, where she wobbles uneasily. Sometimes she watches Marge instead of the TV. The EMTs saved her, made sure she was put with the rest of Jillian’s stuff when she was brought in. Marge is all she has left of the red ’82 Chevy C10. She feels like throwing up every time she sees her, but she can’t look away.

Jillian barely moves. Barely leaves her room except to go to the bathroom. Mark brings her food and sometimes she eats it but most times she doesn’t. She only leaves the house for physical therapy appointments and doctor’s appointments.

She takes a Sharpie to the cast on her broken wrist. Colours the whole thing black. The first Sharpie runs out and she has to get another one to finish.

Near the end of August, Mark comes into her room and sits in her desk chair.

“Can you pause that?”

Jillian lifts the remote and pauses. The screen freezes on Mulder and Scully digging up a grave. Marge bobbles.

“We need to talk about September,” Mark says.

“What about it?” She stares out her window. A kid rides past on a bike.

“I think you should go back to school.”

She looks at him. Blinks. “What do you mean, back to school?”

“Back to school. High school.”

She laughs, because obviously he’s joking.

“I’m serious, Jillian.”

“I haven’t been to school in seven years,” she says, “and you want me to go back _now?_ ”

“Yes, I do.”

“No.”

“This isn’t a negotiation, Jillian.”

“I’ve already learned everything that I’d be taught. _More._ Hell, I already have all my requirements to graduate as is.”

“It’s not about the academics. It’s about this.” He gestures at her. “This isn’t good for you. You can’t isolate yourself forever. I’m letting you do it right now because you’re grieving, but at some point, you need to join the world of the living again.”

She laughs harshly. “Poor choice of words, my guy.”

“No, it’s not. You’re alive, Jillian. Life doesn’t stop just because she’s gone. She wouldn’t have wa—”

“Don’t you _dare_ say that this isn’t what she would’ve wanted. You don’t know what she wanted. And it doesn’t _matter_ what she’d want, because she’s _dead_.”

Mark flinches. “I’m sorry, but I’m putting my foot down. You’re starting at Hoover High in a few weeks. You need to be around people again. It’s only a year. That’s it. One year. Then you can graduate and lock yourself in a room for the rest of your life if you really want. Okay?”

Hoover High. That registers dimly.

The high school Erin was going to go to. She wonders if Erin’s still there.

Jillian is quiet for a few minutes.

“Okay,” she says finally.

She spends the next few weeks watching more X-Files and trying to wrap her head around the fact that she might see Erin again. A light at the end of a very long and very bleak tunnel. What should she say to her? Will she look different? Will she have changed? It’s been four years. Four years is a long time.

On her first day, she selects her outfit with care. Baggy black cargo pants, a faded Queen t-shirt that belonged to her mom, a men’s waistcoat that she leaves unbuttoned, and a brown trench coat that she calls her Scully Coat.

She kisses Luke on the top of his head and accepts a quick hug from Mark, then hoists her patchwork bag over her shoulder. She gets her old bike from the garage, the one she bought at a yard sale for $5 and was told didn’t work, and pedals off in the direction of the school with her coat flapping in the wind behind her. She doesn’t go in cars anymore.

When she gets to the school, she locks up her bike and stares up at the building, taking a few deep breaths. She has no idea what to expect. She’s about to enter her senior year of high school at only fifteen, and she hasn’t set foot in a public school since the fifth grade. Seems like a recipe for disaster. Her wrist twinges. It always hurts now when she gets anxious.

Inside, she finds the guidance office, where she’s given a schedule and pointed in the right direction.

She has AP Calculus first. If there was a class that Erin would be in with her, that would be it.

She finds the room easily and hovers outside the door for a few seconds. A couple students slip past her and give her weird looks.

Finally, she steps inside.

She scans the room, and sees her immediately. How could she not?

She’s there in the back row of desks, and she looks like the same old Erin, just bigger and older. Her hair is the same as it always was. Her face is a little leaner than it used to be. Her eyes, her little swooping nose, they’re the same as she remembers.

Jillian’s breath hitches in her throat. She’s so beautiful.

Then she notices the girl Erin is sitting beside. Notices the way they’re sitting with their heads bent together over a thick book. The girl says something, and Erin laughs. Her laugh carries across the classroom, floats through Jillian’s ears, and turns her brain to static.

Erin’s moved on.

Her stomach bottoms out.

 

Erin is waiting for AP Calc to start and discussing _Kemp’s Spectral Field Guide_ with Abby when there’s movement to her left.

A low, familiar voice says, “This seat taken?”

She freezes. Looks up slowly.

It’s her.

It’s really her.

Erin is out of her chair is a second flat and throws her arms around Jillian, clinging onto her tightly.

“Oh my God,” she says. “Oh my God, it’s you.”

Jillian chuckles and returns the hug, gripping just as tightly. “It’s me.”

Erin doesn’t want to let go for fear that Jillian will somehow disappear like an apparition. She squeezes tighter.

“Oof. Erin, could you—I was in a car accident a few months ago and I’m still—”

Erin releases her at once and steps back. “Oh my God. You were…you were in the car too?”

Jillian flinches. Erin studies her. The evidence is all there. She hadn’t noticed at first, but her face and neck are covered with little scars and one bigger one up on her forehead. Her face is thin, her cheekbones prominent. The bags under her eyes are practically the colour of plums. Erin wonders if she’s been sleeping at all. Or eating.

“I didn’t know…that you knew,” Jillian says, staring at the floor.

“I saw the—um, I saw the paper.” Erin can’t bring herself to say the word obituary. She reaches out and takes Jillian’s hands in hers. “I’m so sorry, Jillian. I’m so, so sorry. I wish I had been there for you.” Her voice breaks. She’s not sure what else to say.

She sees tears gather in the corners of Jillian’s eyes.

“What are you doing back in school?” Erin says quickly, to distract her.

Jillian shrugs and swipes at her eyes. The tears are already gone a second later, just like that. “Mark made me. Says I need to be around people, because I haven’t really been, since…”

Erin swallows and squeezes her hands. “I can’t believe you’re here. For the whole year?”

“For the whole year,” Jillian confirms. “I’ll graduate with you. Billions of years, and we’ll get to graduate from the same school at the same time.”

Erin feels her eyes well up a bit, too. She knows what Jillian is talking about right away.

There’s a cough behind her.

_Abby_. She almost forgot about Abby. Erin looks down at her, takes in her confused expression, then looks back at Jillian, whose own face is an on-edge mask, guarded. That’s new.

“Um, Jillian, this is Abby Yates. Abby, this is my friend, Jillian.”

Abby stands and extends a hand past Erin. “Nice to meet you.”

Jillian shakes it, her unease evident. “How long have you known each other?”

Erin glances at Abby. “Abby transferred here last year.”

“Oh. Erin and I have been friends since the fourth grade,” Jillian says to Abby, her voice hard and almost territorial. Is she jealous of Abby?

That stings, a little. She doesn’t have any right to be jealous. She’s the one who exited Erin’s life, not the other way around.

Then she remembers that Jillian’s mom just died less than two months ago, so Erin should probably cut her some slack.

“I like your coat,” Abby says. “It reminds me of—”

“Scully’s,” Jillian finishes at the same time that Abby does.

The corner of Jillian’s mouth twitches up. “You watch the X-Files?”

Erin and Abby exchange an eager look. “Watch?” Erin says. “Try obsess over. We’ve seen every single episode. Multiple times.”

“Betcha I’ve seen them more,” Jillian says.

“Abby’s really into the paranormal,” Erin says, starting to get excited. “We started a club called the Metaphysical Examination Society here at school.”

“Cool,” Jillian says, hooking her bag over the back of her chair and taking a seat in the spot beside Erin. “How many members are there?”

Erin sits back down too, and Abby follows. They exchange a glance. “Just two. Maybe three?” Erin tilts her head hopefully.

Jillian smiles, and it doesn’t have the spark of her old smiles, but it’s a relief to see regardless. “Definitely three.”

 

When she’s with Erin, the hole in Jillian’s heart doesn’t feel as big. She doesn’t forget—she never forgets—but it’s easier to get through the days.

It takes her a few days, but she warms up to Abby. She seems pretty cool, and Jillian can see why Erin is friends with her. They let her read all their pages and pages of notes about the paranormal. They’ve done a staggering amount of research in the year that they’ve known each other.

They show Jillian the notes they have about equipment they want to buy but can’t afford. EMF meters. Geiger counters.

“I might be able to help,” she says, even though she hasn’t built anything in months. “I can try, at the very least.”

They get very excited about that. She wonders if she made a mistake by promising that. How crushed will they be if she can’t pull it off?

She turns sixteen, and Erin doesn’t forget her birthday. She brings her a cupcake from home, neatly packed in a Tupperware container.

“It’s no mug cake, but…” Erin says.

“It’s perfect,” Jillian says. “Thank you.”

She has most of her classes with either Erin, Abby, or both of them. They spend every lunch hour together at a table in the cafeteria and conduct their club meetings. Nobody else joins them, but it’s kind of better that way. They talk about how they need to do a stakeout of at least one supposedly haunted site in Battle Creek. Erin and Abby haven’t been to one yet because without legit equipment, nobody is going to let a bunch of teenagers onto their property.

It’s nice to throw herself into something headfirst. It keeps her occupied. Distracted. She has passion for something again.

Mark must be able to see the change in her. She’s more animated. She leaves her room more than just for school. She eats and eats, making up for lost time.

Nightmares still keep her up every night, but she doesn’t see those ever going away.

Erin comments on it one day. They’re sitting outside in the corner of one of the fields, just like they used to. Their Spot. Abby’s at the dentist today.

“Do you ever sleep, Jillian?” Erin mutters, stretching one hand so her fingertips gently graze the dark skin under Jillian’s eyes.

“Sometimes.”

“What keeps you awake?”

“Nightmares,” Jillian grunts.

“Every night?”

Jillian nods. Every night. The same one.

_A crunch of metal. The smell of fire._

She closes her eyes.

Erin’s fingertips trail down to Jillian’s cheek, linger there a second, then disappear. Jillian swallows.

“I had recurring nightmares, too,” Erin says quietly. “After the ghost. I’m sorry.”

Jillian opens her eyes. Erin looks sad, the way she always looks when anything about Jillian’s mom or the accident comes up. Jillian appreciates that. Most people’s faces just drip with pity, surface level sympathy. Erin always looks as though the topic is just as painful for her, like it hurts her deeply.

“Did they go away?”

“I, um…I saw someone. A doctor. She helped me talk about them, and then they stopped.”

“You mean a shrink?”

Erin nods and looks at her hands, fiddling with them. “There was a lot of other stuff that she didn’t help at all with, made worse actually, but that was one thing she really did help with.”

Jillian scratches her arm. Mark has been nudging her to see someone, too.

“I dunno, GG,” she says, the childhood nickname slipping from her lips before she can help it. “I don’t forget things as easily as you.”

Erin sighs. “I know. I know you don’t.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I had no choice.
> 
> The second half of the high school section is happier overall, I promise.


	5. (some things were never said)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings in this chapter for homophobia. 
> 
> More hyperlinked songs in this half!

It’s strange, Erin thinks, how easily Jillian has fit back into her life. It’s like no time has passed and nothing’s changed, even though tons of time has passed and _everything’s_ changed.

Well, not everything.

With every day that passes, she gets a little bit of the old Jillian back. Just glimmers of her here and there, moments where it seems like she’s happy again, like she _might_ be happy again.

Then there’s moments where Erin wonders if she’s even the same person.

One day, the three of them are walking in the hallway and Jillian happens to bump shoulders with Carl Lund, one of the biggest assholes Erin’s ever met.

He spins with his eyes flashing. “Watch where you’re going, dyke,” he spits.

His friends laugh.

When Erin catches a glimpse of Jillian’s face, it’s frozen in a mix of fear and defeat. Not an ounce of the anger that a younger Jillian would’ve had. Not a hint of a witty comeback escapes from her lips.

Luckily, Abby’s got her covered.

“Hey, Carl,” she calls, loud enough for the whole hall to hear, “my dad wanted me to tell you that your prescription came in for that cream. Don’t worry, that weird rash on your balls will clear up in no time!”

He turns red. “Whatever, fatass.” He turns and storms away.

“Original,” Abby shouts after him.

Jillian still looks like she’s going to cry, so they take her into the bathroom, out of view.

“Don’t worry about that loser,” Abby says. “He was just being a dick.”

“Yeah,” Erin says. “He says all sorts of crap. You just gotta ignore him.” Erin knows because she’s been on the receiving end for years now.

Jillian stares at the wall. “Yep.”

“Seriously,” Erin says. “Don’t worry about what he said. Nobody else thinks that, okay?”

Jillian looks at her for a long moment, something buried in her eyes. “Okay.”

Erin thinks about that look for a long time, and a seed of an idea gets planted deep in her gut. She mulls it over for months. It shouldn’t matter, she knows it shouldn’t matter, but it won’t leave her alone.

She knows she could just ask Jillian, but she doesn’t.

She doesn’t know if she even wants to know the answer.

And she doesn’t know _why_ she wouldn’t want to know the answer.

 

Jillian doesn’t forget about the incident with Carl Lund.

She thinks about it. A lot.

She remembers after her kiss with Erin in the woods, when she wondered to herself if she wanted to kiss other girls too, or just Erin. She told herself at the time that it was a problem for another day.

Now seems like a good time to tackle that problem.

She does research, a lot of it, like a good scientist. She doesn’t have access to test subjects, but she rounds up every single one of her mom’s old magazines, books, anything sitting around the house that has a photo of a woman (excluding anyone who’s related to her, gross) and spreads them out on her bed. She flips through them all, studies them, uses her photographic memory to keep a log of how she reacts when she sees each woman.

Then she turns to the TV and does the same thing. She knows how she feels when she sees Scully, so that goes down as a data point. She flicks through channels and examines face after face.

She does the same thing with men, just for comparison.

Then she transitions into real-world research by cataloguing everyone she passes in the hallways at school.

By the end of her research, it seems like the results are leaning in one way, but she can’t make any definite conclusions until she has experimental backing. The only problem is she doesn’t know how to make that happen.

It’s like ghost hunting. Awful hard to conduct real, credible research when you don’t have the right tools.

At least she can try and build ghost hunting tools. She can’t build people who are interested in her.

And building the ghost hunting tools isn’t going spectacularly either. Erin and Abby swear they aren’t disappointed at all.

The problem is that Jillian doesn’t have the right parts. She can’t just whip together a Geiger counter with the scrap metal she’s collected in her workshop. She can’t even find a book that’ll tell her how to do it.

(Coincidentally, she’d also love it if there was a book that would tell her whether or not she likes women).

 

Their AP Physics teacher, Mr. Gannon, makes an announcement one day about the school’s science fair that’s happening in April.

“Guys, we have to enter! We can show the world all our research,” Abby says as they exit the room after the bell goes.

Erin is uneasy about the prospect. Share their research? With the whole school? Who already thinks they’re crazy?

“I don’t know, Abby,” she says.

“Come on, Erin. This is our chance to make people take us seriously! Plus, I bet entering will give us a boost when it’s time for scholarships to be doled out.”

All three of them applied for early admission to University of Michigan, among other schools, and all three of them heard back and got in. It’s not definite yet, that they’re all going, but it seems pretty likely.

Erin just knows that she wants to go wherever Jillian is going. Now that she’s back in her life, she doesn’t want to be apart from her again.

Abby wins her over with her scholarship argument, and soon they’re all planning out their project at Abby’s house. They have ages to put the project together, but they also have a lot of material to get through.

As they work to compile it all, it becomes increasingly evident how well they work together as a team. They each bring something to the table, and Erin has a flash of what it would be like if they worked on research together for the rest of their lives. They really could be the first ones to prove the existence of the paranormal if they put their brains together.

It doesn’t take long after that for them to all accept their offers to U of M. They all seem to be feeling the same way about their potential as a team.

The next problem is deciding who gets to be roommates with each other and who has to room with a stranger. They put the options on slips of paper and draw out of a hat to make it fair.

Erin crosses her fingers as she withdraws her slip. She _really_ doesn’t want to room with a stranger. She unfolds the piece of paper and sees the word _yes_ with a little smiley face that Jillian scrawled, which means she’s got one of the spots. She breathes a sigh of relief.

She’s not sure why, but she’s hoping that Jillian will get the other spot. She adores Abby, she really does, but Jillian is the one who she _really_ wants to share her college experience with.

Abby draws next. She unfurls her paper and pouts, holding it out for them to see the _no_ and sad face.

Jillian looks at Erin with a grin. “Hey, roomie.”

Erin tries to contain her excitement. “Sorry, Abby. You can hang out in our room as much as you want, okay?”

“Sure, sure.” Abby doesn’t actually sound that upset.

April approaches, and their project is looking good. Better than good. They’re all so proud of it.

On the day of the science fair, Erin drives and picks up Abby, and they load the project into the back of the car. They meet Jillian at the school, and she helps them unload it and bring it inside to set it up.

The three of them stroll into the gym feeling professional yet _awesome_ in their matching black turtlenecks. It was Erin who suggested them. She thought a plain, neutral look would put the focus on the presentation itself.

On their way to their designated station, they pass by Carl Lund and a group of his friends, who have built a pair of robots to fight each other called Blade Face and Señor Pain. Blade Face appears to be made with parts from a power saw and has a claw hand to grab its opponent. Señor Pain, on the other hand, has a single arm holding a hatchet.

Jillian jabs her thumb at them as they walk by. “Amateur hour, am I right,” she says out of the corner of her mouth so only Erin and Abby can hear her. They both laugh.

They set up their red poster board, which is covered with a series of sections and drawings about a billion different topics with a large ghost cut-out at the top that says: _The durable but not impenetrable barrier._

The largest of the sections has, written across the top: _A significant coupling may well exist between spectral and Standard Model particles—a total of twelve gauge bosons: the photon, three weak bosons, and eight gluons._ The rest of that section is completely covered in equations that Erin worked out that describe Lagrangian mechanics. They tried to explain all of it to Mr. Gannon one time, and he could barely follow along with their theories about the spectral ether.

Erin is pretty sure that not a single person in this room would be able to understand, actually.

The judging begins with some projects that are, frankly, uninspired and lame.

When it’s time for the robot fight, the three of them abandon their station to go watch. They can’t miss this absurdity, if only so they can make fun of it.

Carl’s presentation is full of dramatics and music as the robots begin to battle. It seems like a close fight between the two, and for a while Señor Pain has the upper hand, but then Carl’s esteemed Blade Face grabs hold of Señor Pain’s hatchet, twists the robot, and in a grand finale of sparks, saws it in half. Carl throws his hands over his head triumphantly.

“My robot is _invincible!”_ he shouts.

Erin’s eyes go to Jillian at the same time that Jillian’s go to hers. Are they both thinking the same thing? Erin had forgotten all about the Ghost Lizard until now. Did Jillian get it working?

Jillian raises her eyebrow mischievously, and that seems like Erin’s answer right there.

“You wanna bet on that, Lund?” Jillian says after the judges have moved onto the next project.

He smirks and crosses his arms. “Don’t tell me that you _girls_ have built a robot. What are its powers? Putting on makeup?”

“First of all, you sexist dweeb,” Abby starts, clearly getting riled up.

Jillian places a hand across her chest, holding her back. “ _Actually_ , Carl, we _do_ have a robot. And it could kick your robot’s ass.”

“Now _that_ I’d love to see,” Carl says with a laugh.

“Any time, any place,” Jillian says confidently, crossing her arms to match his stance.

Is she really that confident? If Erin remembers correctly, the Ghost Lizard’s only useful power was shooting lasers out its mouth. Is that any match for a saw blade?

“After school?” Carl says.

“Hamilton Park?” Jillian says.

“You’re on.”

Jillian smiles smugly. “Make sure to tell your friends.”

Then she turns and pulls both Erin and Abby with her in the direction of their station.

“Do you really have a robot?” Abby asks.

“Sure do,” Jillian replies proudly. “Erin and I built it, right Erin?”

“Jillian built it,” Erin says. “I just wrote the code.”

“Which works like a charm, by the way. Nicely done.”

“Does it fly?”

“You better believe it.”

“And the lasers?”

Jillian makes zapping noises. “Locked and loaded.”

Abby whistles. “This I gotta see.”

“In good time, Abigail. First: we got a science fair to win.”

Erin’s pretty sure they aren’t going to win. When they reach their poster again, she looks it over.

“Guys, this is too complicated. Everyone’s going to be bored. We’ll never win.”

“Not with that attitude,” Jillian says.

“We need something else. Something to catch their attention.”

All they have is a boombox with a tape of spooky noises playing.

“Hold on,” Abby says, rummaging around in her bag. She pulls out another tape triumphantly.

“Is that…”

“Our dance!” Abby says gleefully.

Jillian looks back and forth between them. “What dance?”

“We choreographed this whole dance and rap number,” Erin explains. “Over the summer.”

“You? A rap?”

“Abby’s the one who raps,” Erin says.

Abby holds up the tape. “What do you think?”

Erin looks at Jillian and bites her lip.

“Hey,” Jillian says, “don’t worry about me. I can stay out of your way. Or just do some freestyling. Whichever.”

Erin nods slowly. “I think we should do it.”

They run through the dialogue with Jillian so she can at least participate with that, and they agree that she should just follow along as best as she can and see where the music takes her.

When the judges gather around their display, Abby counts to three and pushes play on the boombox.

Ambient noise starts.

“Good,” Erin says.

“Morning,” Abby says.

 “Prepare,” Jillian says.

“For takeoff into the unknown,” they all say together, shaking as if they’re spaceships. Then they start moving around like robots. “In 5…4…3…2…1.”

The three of them line up one in front of the other and wave their arms.

“The universe is mysterious,” Erin says.

“96% mysterious!” Abby echoes.

“But what ’bout the topic of ghosts?” Jillian says from behind Erin.

“They’re real!” Erin and Abby shout.

“Time is running out,” Erin says.

“It’s never too late if you believe,” Abby says.

“In what?” Jillian says.

“GHOSTS! They’re real!”

They break out of formation and start circling around, and Jillian picks up their cue quickly. They transition into their alternating side sweeps while Jillian dances in the background.

“Para!”

“Normal!”

“Is!”

“Normal!”

“AND A VALID SCIENCE,” the three of them shout.

The next section has a bit of interpretive dancing and swaying. Then they grab at the air.

“Reach for the truth,” Abby says.

“Entities are everywhere,” Erin says.

“And the truth is out there,” Jillian says behind them.

Erin grins. That wasn’t in the script, but it’s a nice addition.

“Word,” Abby and Erin say together.

Then the music changes to more of a hip-hop beat.

“Hey!”

“Hey!”

“Ho!”

“Ho!”

“Why are skeptics so fast to say no?”

“Yo,” Erin says. “How many different ghosts we got, A?”

This is Abby’s rap solo.

“Humanoids, vapours, several dozen more. Free-roaming, anchored, are you keeping score? Possessing, repeating, alone or in swarms. Powerful metaspectres changing forms!”

Then it’s time for Abby’s breakdancing, which usually goes for half an hour. Erin and Jillian dance behind her.

“She’s getting physical,” Erin says. “ _Meta_ physical.”

After a few minutes, she can see the judges getting impatient, so she mutters, “Let’s skip ahead.”

Abby gets up while Erin fast forwards through the tape. They start dancing again.

“Why don’t I see ghosts flying around everywhere?”

“The barrier stops them,” Jillian answers, copying their movements.

“It’s the last line of defense in the portal betwixt the worlds of the living and the dead,” Abby adds.

“We’re right!” Erin says.

“Hit it,” says Abby.

They launch into their finale.

“Protect the barrier…protect the barrier…PROTECT THE BARRIER,” they say together, “or MANKIND WILL END!”

Abby lifts Erin for a few seconds, then sets her down for their final pose. Erin cocks her hip with her hand behind her head, Abby moves into a lunge of sorts, and Jillian folds her arms with her head tilted.

The entire gym is silent.

“Do you have any questions?” Abby asks, out of breath.

One of the judges clicks his pen. “I think we’ve got all we need, thank you.”

They give the prize to Carl Lund and his robots, and they get to advance to the county finals.

Abby boos.

“Don’t worry,” Jillian says. “After school, we’re going to tear his puny robot to shreds. Finals, shminals.”

 

Jillian’s a little nervous as she bikes home with Erin and Abby in the car behind her. She’s not nervous about the robot fight, not one bit, but she _is_ nervous about Erin and Abby coming to her house, even if it’s only to load the robot into Erin’s car.

Mark must know that she’s made friends, what with how many hours she spends out of the house nowadays, but he hasn’t asked her about them. He’s usually pretty good about respecting her privacy.

Jillian signals with her hand as she turns into her driveway, then dismounts and leaves her bike lying in the middle of it. Erin pulls up to the curb in front of the house and then the two of them get out of the car, slamming the doors shut behind them.

Erin shields her eyes from the sun as she appraises the house, and Jillian shifts uneasily.

“Come on,” she says, “it’s inside.”

She opens the front door and steps inside.

“I’m home,” she calls.

She hears the unmistakable sound of tiny feet running from down the hall and sees her little brother round the corner.

“Jilly!”

Luke runs straight into her open arms, and she lifts and swings him, then props him on her hip.

“Hey, lil dude,” she says, kissing him on the top of his head.

He stretches his head to look behind her warily. He’s not too great with new people.

“Those are my friends,” she says. “That’s Erin, and that’s Abby.”

They wave at him.

Mark rounds the corner and stops dead in surprise.

Jillian clears her throat. “Uh…hey. I, um…my friends are here to pick up something. Is that okay?”

He recovers a second later. “I…of course! Welcome!” He strides over with his hand outstretched. “I’m Mark.”

Abby shakes his hand first. “Abby Yates.”

“Nice to meet you, Abby. And…” He moves to shake Erin’s hand.

“Erin,” she says quickly. “Erin Gilbert.”

He freezes, then he looks back at Jillian with mild horror. She swallows. He has a good memory, too.

He blinks, then looks back at Erin. “Nice to meet you too, Erin.”

Jillian puts Luke down and he runs to hide behind the couch. “We just need to grab something from my room, and then we’re heading out again.”

“Okay,” Mark says, still sounding a little baffled.

Jillian motions for Erin and Abby to follow her. When she pushes the door to her bedroom open, she’s suddenly self-conscious, embarrassed by the mess and how it clearly looks (and smells) like a room that someone sat alone for months in.

If they notice, they don’t comment on it.

“That’s a lot of tapes,” Abby says.

Jillian, bent in the closet moving boxes to try and find the one with the robot in it, doesn’t turn. “I told you I’d probably seen all the X-Files episodes more than you.”

“That’s a lot of _magazines_ ,” Erin says.

Jillian freezes. Looks over her shoulder to see Erin staring down at her desk, and her hefty stack of research materials.

“They were my mom’s,” she says quickly, because that’s a good way to avoid other questions.

They fall silent.

She turns back to the boxes and finds the one she’s looking for, then drags it out and sets it on top of her unmade bed. She hears a crunch as she puts it down, probably a forgotten chip crumbling. She eats a lot of chips in bed.

“Is that it?” Erin asks.

Jillian opens the box, checks to see that the robot is still in one piece, and smiles. “It is.”

They load the box into the back of Erin’s car with their science fair poster.

“Are you, um, coming with us?” Erin asks.

Jillian shakes her head and picks up her bike. “I’ll meet you there.”

Erin nods in understanding.

When Jillian pulls up to Hamilton Park, she sees a large crowd of kids from school gathered there already. Erin and Abby are waiting for her, leaning on the back of Erin’s car and talking.

She drops her bike in the grass.

“You ready?” she asks.

“You’re sure this thing still works?” Erin asks, nudging the box at her feet.

“Positive.”

“Let’s do it, then.”

Jillian carries the box across the field to where the crowd is. Carl Lund is standing in the center of it all with his prized robot. Jillian rolls her eyes.

“Look who decided to show up?” he sneers.

“Chill out, Carl,” Abby says.

“Shut up, Yates. This is between me and ET over there.” He points at Jillian.

That’s a new one.

“Don’t worry, Carl, you’re the only one who’ll be phoning home…to cry to your parents,” Erin says.

“You gotta get the voice right, Er,” Jillian says. “Phone home!” Her ET impression is damn good, if she doesn’t say so herself.

“Phone home,” Erin tries. “Phone home.”

“Better.”

“Phone home,” Abby says. Hers is even worse than Erin’s.

“Phone home,” Jillian repeats.

Carl snaps his fingers at them. “Will you losers cut it the hell out? It’s time to put your money where your mouth is.”

“Right, it’s time to demolish your puny robot,” Jillian says with a wide smile. She sets the box down and gently lifts out the Ghost Lizard. “Hello, old friend,” she murmurs as she sets it down in the dirt.

“ _That’s_ your robot?” Carl laughs. “Where’s its weapon?”

“That’s for us to know and you to find out,” Erin says.

Jillian takes out the remote controls and sits down on her heels, powering up the robot and trying a few commands. It moves perfectly.

And she’s _pretty_ sure…like 87% sure…that the rockets and lasers will still work.

The other kids clear a circle around the two of them. Carl sits down cross-legged on his side, clutching his own controls with an evil grin.

Erin crouches beside her. “You need any help?”

“Just get the box out of the way,” Jillian says, fully extending the antenna on the controls.

Erin obliges.

Someone has music playing from a boom box. David Bowie’s _[Let’s Dance](https://youtu.be/N4d7Wp9kKjA). _ She bops her head to the beat. She much prefers 80s music to any of the current hits. Not that she listens to the radio any more.

Jillian pushes her glasses so they’re resting on top of her head, and raises her eyebrow at Carl. “You ready?”

“Born ready, sweetheart,” he says condescendingly.

She shrugs. “If ya say so, buttercup.”

The circle of kids around them counts down. 3…2…1…

Blade Face surges forward. Jillian waits patiently.

“Jillian?” Erin says. “Are you gonna…”

Jillian hums along to the music. Blade Face is rapidly approaching. He’s a speedy little fellow. While she despises its creator, it is a pretty nifty robot, and she can admire that.

When Blade Face gets about a foot away, Jillian hits the button that launches the rockets. It takes a second for them to ignite, but then they kick in and the Ghost Lizard is being carried up and out of harm’s way. The ring of kids gasps collectively.

Carl looks stunned. “What the hell?”

Abby hoots behind Jillian. She steers the robot to the other end of the circle and lands it smoothly.

“Anyone have gum? I feel like I could use a stick of gum right now,” Jillian says.

“Here,” Erin says, and passes her a stick a few seconds later. Jillian unwraps it with one hand and tosses it in her mouth as she turns the Ghost Lizard so it’s facing Blade Face again.

“That was a neat trick,” Carl says, “but you can’t do that forever. Come face me like a man.”

Jillian blows a bubble and waits for it to pop before responding. “I’m no man, but if you insist…”

She moves the controls so the Ghost Lizard lurches forward. Admittedly, it doesn’t move as smoothly as she would like, but it does the job. She makes sure to not get within reach of Blade Face’s arm. As soon as it gets a hold on the Ghost Lizard, it’s all over. It won’t last one second against the saw blade.

That’s why she needs to take it down first.

“If everyone could clear out of the way behind Blade Face,” Jillian says calmly, snapping her gum, “that would be great.”

Nobody moves.

“Well, have it your way. If you get hurt, this isn’t on me.”

She looks over her shoulder at Erin, who flashes her two thumbs up, then looks back into the circle. She moves her glasses back down over her eyes.

“Play tiiime,” she sings, positioning the Ghost Lizard so it’s in the optimal spot to cause the most damage. Then, under her breath, she mutters, “This one’s for you, Mom.”

She holds down the trigger for the lasers.

There’s a flash and a beam of red light cuts through the air. Kids stumble out of the way of it. Jillian directs it down, down, until it connects with Blade Face.

It slices right through the robot like butter. There’s a few seconds where the only sound is the music playing, and then two halves crash to the ground, smoking.

Jillian stops the laser and drops the controller in the ground, raising her fists over her head victoriously.

“Woo!”

Erin and Abby burst into cheers behind her.

Carl sits there, complete shock on his face. He throws his own controller on the ground and stands, balling his fists.

“What the _fuck_ was that?”

Jillian blows another bubble. “That, buddy, was me absolutely _demolishing_ your puny robot, exactly like I said I would.”

“You _cheated_. There’s no way _you_ built that.”

Erin steps past her, her own hands clenched. “Just accept that she beat you fair and square.”

Jillian stands as well and reaches for Erin to hold her back.

“Hey, Carl,” she says dryly. “I’ve got the controls to a laser right here, so if I were you, I wouldn’t step any closer.”

He glares, and then delivers a very deliberate kick to the Ghost Lizard.

Erin breaks from Jillian’s grasp and lunges at him, swinging and striking him in the face before he can even duck out of the way. Instantly, a few of his friends are there, pulling Erin off him and shoving her across the ring. Jillian catches her before she trips.

“Crazy bitch!” Carl shouts at her.

Mercifully, he takes that opportunity to leave before things escalate any more, and he takes his broken robot and most of the crowd with him. A few of the kids linger behind to congratulate Jillian on her victory, then it’s just the three of them.

Jillian kneels to carefully transfer the robot back into its box. It doesn’t seem to be damaged from his kick, nor from the fight. She kisses her fingers, then pats the robot’s head.

“You did good, little buddy.”

Abby has her head bent over Erin’s hand, which is already turning purple across the knuckles.

“That was a sick punch,” Jillian says casually as she stands with the box and shifts it onto her hip.

Erin still looks pissed. “He kicked the Ghost Lizard.”

“It’s no worse for wear. He’s just jealous that he got beat by a buncha giiirls.”

“I don’t think it’s broken,” Abby says, releasing Erin’s fingers. “Just bruised and battered.”

Erin grumbles as they cross the park to the parking lot. They load the box back into Erin’s car.

Jillian looks around for her bike, but it isn’t where she left it. A heavy feeling sinks in her stomach.

“Uhhh…guys?”

They both look her way.

“You happen to see my bike anywhere?”

They glance around, but it’s nowhere in sight. The parking lot is empty now.

“Son of a—” Abby shakes her head. “I think they stole it.”

Jillian’s mouth goes dry. They stole it?

She doesn’t care about the cheap bike, she has no attachment to it, but how is she going to get _home?_

Erin must be able to read her mind, because she touches her arm. “It’s too far to walk.”

Jillian shoves her hands in her pockets. “No, I…I’ll have to. It’s not that far.”

“It kinda is,” Abby points out.

Jillian tries to force down the rising panic at the thought of getting into a car.

“I can’t. I can’t.” She closes her eyes. _A crunch of metal_.

“Hey,” Erin says, “breathe, Jillian. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Jillian opens her eyes and realizes she’s gripping onto Erin’s hands, even her injured one. When did that happen? She drops them apologetically. “I can’t do it.”

Erin bites her lip. “I know it’s hard. But at some point…don’t you think you need to face your fear?”

Jillian scuffs her boot on the pavement.

“What if I sit with you in the back seat?” Erin offers.

“Yeah, you shouldn’t be driving with an injured hand anyway,” Abby says.

Jillian looks deep into Erin’s earnest eyes for a few moments. “Okay,” she says quietly.

An encouraging smile flickers on Erin’s face. “I’ll be right beside you.”

They get into the car. Jillian’s throat feels tight as she fastens her seatbelt snug across her chest, making sure twice that it’s in there securely. As Abby starts the car, her stomach churns.

Erin reaches and takes hold of her hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing tightly.

“We’ll be okay,” she says. “Abby’s probably the most careful driver I’ve ever seen.”

As if to prove Erin’s point, Abby takes three whole minutes to back out of the parking spot. Even though there’s nobody else in the parking lot.

As they begin the drive to Jillian’s house, she keeps a vigilant watch out the window for any possible dangers. She grips Erin’s (uninjured) hand tightly the whole way, and she doesn’t think she breathes fully until they pull in front of her house some time later.

She holds onto Erin’s hand a few seconds longer than necessary, then releases it.

“See?” Erin says. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“No. No, it…wasn’t so bad,” Jillian admits.

“Are you, um…will you need a ride to school tomorrow?”

Jillian hesitates for a few seconds. She supposes she could ask Mark for a ride.

“Maybe,” she says. She clears her throat. “Yes. If you don’t mind.”

Erin smiles. “Of course not.”

Jillian nods slowly, then opens the car door and slides out. She bends down to look into the back seat. She doesn’t really know what to say, so she just gives Erin a little salute.

“See ya tomorrow.”

Erin looks a little wistful as she waves. Abby waves out the driver’s seat window, too.

It’s only when Jillian gets inside the house that she realizes she forgot to get the Ghost Lizard out of the trunk of the car.

_Ehh,_ she thinks. She’s had it for many years. Maybe it’s about time that Erin gets to keep it for a while.

Mark is waiting for her in the living room. She was hoping maybe she could sneak all the way to her room without talking to him, but that’s not going to happen.

“Jillian,” he says, his voice troubled.

She perches on the arm of the couch. “Yeah?”

“Was that…” He frowns. “That Erin, was she the one…”

She knows what he’s getting at.

“I knew her back in elementary school,” she says. And then, because she’s never really forgiven it, she says, “She’s the one you thought I made up.”

His face darkens like that’s the exact answer he was afraid of. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “We didn’t know.”

“If you had…” She kicks her heel against the couch. “Would you have let me stay in school?”

“Yes,” he says. “Of course we would’ve.”

Jillian sighs. There’s no point in dwelling on what could’ve been.

“I’m glad you found her again,” Mark says quickly.

She looks out the front window, where she sees Erin’s car driving away, so slow you’d think Abby was eighty instead of eighteen.

“Me too,” Jillian says simply.

 

Even though the three of them have never been very into the kinds of activities that their peers are, like going to parties, football games, or the like, they all decide that they want to attend prom. They don’t have dates, of course not, but they’re going to go anyway. As friends.

Erin and Abby go dress shopping together. Jillian doesn’t come. She says she’s going to find something to wear at the thrift store, where she buys all her clothes.

Erin doesn’t quite understand that. Mark has lots of money—he’s some sort of bigshot investor, from what Erin knows about him—and she knows that he’s offered to buy Jillian new clothes many times. Erin thinks if there was ever a time to get something new, it would be for prom, but she doesn’t say anything.

Their prom is scheduled for the second weekend in May. Erin gets ready at Abby’s house, where they do each other’s hair and makeup and get dressed. They’re going to pick up Jillian from her house on their way.

Erin’s dress is light purple, with spaghetti straps that cross in the back. Abby’s is royal blue and has puffy sleeves.

“We look awesome,” Erin says, fluffing her bangs in the mirror of Abby’s small bathroom.

“Yeah, we d— _ooh_ ,” Abby doubles over, clutching her stomach.

Erin turns to her in a flash, her hand hovering over her back. “Abby?”

“Fine,” Abby grunts, still bent over. A sheen of sweat has broken out on her forehead.

“Are you?” She definitely doesn’t _seem_ fine.

“I threw up earlier,” Abby admits. Her face twists.

“The flu?”

“The flu doesn’t hurt this much,” Abby groans.

“I’m getting your mom,” Erin says. She steps out into the hallway. “Dr. Yates!” she calls.

Abby’s mom appears shortly after. “What’s going on?”

“Abby’s sick.”

Dr. Yates steps past her into the bathroom. There’s not enough room in there for the three of them, so Erin waits in the hallway. Dr. Yates murmurs something to Abby.

A few minutes later, they exit the bathroom. Abby still has her arms wrapped around her abdomen, and Dr. Yates has her hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Erin, but I have to take Abby to the hospital.”

Erin balks. “The _hospital?_ ” Her heart beats in her throat.

Dr. Yates nods.

“I’ll come with you,” Erin says instantly. She follows them down the hallway.

“No, Erin,” Abby gets out, then gasps a little. When she composes herself, she adds, “You don’t have to throw away your prom for me. Go. With Jillian. You guys can tell me all about it.”

Erin shakes her head. “Not without you.”

“Erin. Please? I _want_ you to go. If I can’t, then I want you to. Kay? Don’t argue with me.”

There’s no arguing with Abby once she’s made up her mind about something.

“Are you sure?” Erin whispers.

“Yes. Now get outta here before I barf on you.”

Erin hesitates, then grabs her purse and keys. She waits until Dr. Yates helps Abby into their car and they’ve driven off, then she gets in her own car.

She drives to Jillian’s house, distracted thinking and worrying about Abby.

Mark answers the door when she rings the bell.

“Erin! Don’t you look beautiful.”

She smiles bashfully and enters the house. Over in the middle the recliner, Luke eyes her.

“Jillian’s just in her room,” Mark says, shutting the door behind her.

“Thanks.” She walks down the hall, pausing in front of a framed photo on the wall of Jillian and her mother. Jillian looks even younger than she was when Erin first met her. Erin had almost forgotten what she looked like when she was a kid.

She raps on Jillian’s closed door when she gets there. “It’s me.”

“Come in,” Jillian calls.

Erin pushes open the door and enters, then stops dead. Jillian turns from where she’s studying herself in her floor length mirror.

“Too much?” she asks.

Erin just gapes at her.

She’s wearing a _suit_ , not a dress.

Erin doesn’t know why that surprises her so much. Jillian’s always been a tomboy, and Erin couldn’t _actually_ picture her in a dress…but still, it’s _prom_.

And Jillian’s wearing a suit. A green suit. With a white button-up shirt. And a loud-printed tie. And her hair is down. It’s never down.

She can’t stop staring. Her mouth is dry all of a sudden, like she’s dehydrated. Actually, she probably is.

Jillian’s face falls. “What’s wrong? Is it the tie that’s too much? I have another one…”

“The tie is fine,” Erin manages to whisper. Her voice sounds hoarse. She coughs, hoping to clear it.

Jillian sweeps her eyes up and down Erin’s own outfit. “You look really pretty, by the way,” she says, almost shyly.

Something in the very back of Erin’s brain starts making a lot of noise, almost like an alarm. She can feel _that_ question, the one she was too afraid to ask Jillian, hovering back there, but she shoos it away. Now’s not the time for that.

She still hasn’t said a whole lot. Jillian is staring at her a little strangely.

“You okay, there? Where’s Abby?”

That snaps Erin out of it. “Sick,” she blurts.

“Huh?”

“Abby’s sick. Her mom had to take her to the hospital.”

Jillian’s mouth falls open. “What? Is she okay?”

“I don’t know,” Erin says.

“Shit,” Jillian says. “Should we bail on prom?”

“She gave me specific instructions to go anyway so we can tell her about it,” Erin says, her voice almost robotic.

“Alright?”

Erin doesn’t say anything.

“Um…” Jillian says. “You never did answer…is it too much?”

Erin shakes her head so fast she’s surprised she doesn’t get whiplash. “You look…very nice,” she chokes out.

“Cool,” Jillian says.

Out in the living room, Mark takes a few photos of them. He says he feels bad that Abby can’t join them.

After that, they go out to Erin’s car. Jillian gets in the back seat like she always does, except it’s a little weird without Abby in the passenger’s seat.

“Glad we didn’t get a limo,” Erin says, meeting Jillian’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. “I’m basically a chauffeur.”

Jillian chuckles. “Where’s the partition to put up so you can’t hear me?”

They get to the school and park.

“Shall we?” Jillian says, extending her elbow for Erin to grab onto.

Erin hesitates for only a second, then takes it and they head inside.

They get some dirty looks—a _lot_ of dirty looks, actually, most of them directed at Jillian—but they keep walking.

The gym has been completely transformed. It’s all pretty cheesy, the decorations, but nice all the same. They stand awkwardly at the edge of the gym, watching everyone else dance.

Jillian is bobbing her head. “Come on, we came to dance, didn’t we?” She grabs Erin’s hand and tugs her out to the dance floor.

Erin’s a little self-conscious of her dancing, but after a few songs, she’s getting over it. Jillian is such a wild dancer that it’s hard not to let loose when you’re dancing with her.

She’s having a lot of fun, but she wishes Abby wasn’t sick. She hopes she’s okay.

The song transitions into _I’ll Be Missing You_.

Jillian freezes.

Then she runs.

Erin is a little dumbfounded for a few seconds, then she runs after her. The hallway is empty, but the door to the girls’ bathroom is just closing. She jogs over and catches it.

“Jillian?” she calls.

There’s a sniffle. The middle stall is closed. She can see Jillian’s brown wing-tip shoes underneath. She knocks lightly on the stall.

“What’s going on?”

Jillian unlocks the stall but doesn’t open the door. Erin gently pushes it open to see Jillian sitting on the edge of the toilet seat with her head in her hands. She’s clearly crying.

Erin steps inside the stall and shuts the door behind her.

“Jillian?” she repeats quietly.

She doesn’t lift her head. “That song…it was playing…when…” Her voice breaks.

Erin crouches, which isn’t easy in her dress, and wraps her fingers around Jillian’s forearm. “It’s okay. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

She watches Jillian’s throat bob as she swallows.

“We don’t have to go back in,” Erin says. “We can stay here.”

“That’s a lousy prom,” Jillian says.

“I don’t mind. Abby’s in the hospital, so it’s already not ideal.”

Jillian takes a few deep breaths and drops her hands. Her face is red and wet with tears. “We don’t need to stay in here all night. Just…maybe until the song is over?”

Erin nods. “Of course. Whatever you need.”

They sit there silently. Jillian wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her green jacket.

“Where’d you get your suit?” Erin asks, just to make conversation.

“Mark helped me pick it out and get it tailored,” Jillian says. “I wanted one from the thrift store, but he said if I was going to wear one then I had to do it right.”

“That’s nice of him,” Erin says with a small smile.

“Yeah.”

Sometimes Erin wonders what it must be like for Jillian to have the only surviving members of her family be people who she’s barely related to. Mark’s just her stepdad, and Luke is her half-brother. Her mom was supposed to be her only family, and now she’s left with pieces of a family that she never really wanted, and it’s missing the only person who mattered to her.

She’d never actually ask Jillian about it, because she feels like it’s way too difficult of a subject.

A few minutes pass.

“We can probably go back, now,” Jillian says.

They leave the stall and put some cold water on Jillian’s face to take down the redness until it doesn’t look like she’s been crying.

They head back to the gym, where a new song is playing. They dance like nothing happened.

They take a break after a bit, get some punch, lean against the wall, and watch their peers dance.

“Who d’you think is losing their virginity tonight?” Jillian asks.

Erin snorts into her cup of punch. “ _Jillian_.”

“What? It’s a fun game.”

Erin blushes just thinking about it. “I’m not playing it.”

“Fiiine.”

They throw their cups in the garbage and rejoin the dance floor. They dance for a few more songs, then the song fades into a slower song. _[From This Moment On](https://youtu.be/wHUNoUFrh6E)_.

Erin pouts. Not another slow song. She goes to walk away, assuming Jillian will follow her, but instead she catches her wrist. Erin looks back at her with confusion.

“Come on,” Jillian says with a lopsided smile. “We can dance to this.”

Erin hesitates for much longer than she did before they walked into the building. What will people think? Especially with Jillian dressed the way she is?

Erin bites her lip. Jillian’s eyes are calm and eager, like this doesn’t mean anything, but behind them there’s something that almost looks like fear.

Erin steps closer. She pauses, taking a quick peek around her to copy what everyone else is doing. She’s never slow-danced with anyone before.

She carefully drapes her arms over Jillian’s shoulders. Jillian beams and takes her waist, equally as careful.

_“Right beside you is where I belong, from this moment on._ ”

They sway a little awkwardly. Erin’s heart is beating really fast, probably because she’s scared that someone might say something. What if people think that they’re…you know?

“ _You and I will never be apart.”_

They continue to sway. Erin is distracted watching over Jillian’s shoulder. She can see a few of the parent chaperones gathering on the other side of the gym, watching them and whispering.

“ _There is nothing I wouldn’t give, from this moment on.”_

The principal has joined the parent chaperones. They’re still watching. Now they’re walking. Towards them.

“Jillian,” Erin says urgently.

Jillian cocks her head. “What?”

“ _All we need is just the two of us.”_

Erin releases her arms and steps out of Jillian’s grasp as the principal reaches them with a few parents flanking him.

“Miss Gilbert, Miss Holtzmann…” the principal says. “We’re going to have to ask you to stop that.”

“We’re not allowed to dance?” Jillian says.

“It’s inappropriate,” one of the parents says.

Jillian gestures around them. “Everyone else is dancing like this.”

Erin can feel her face getting hot. Everyone is looking their way now.

The principal has a pinched look on his face. “There are rules of conduct, Miss Holtzmann, and if you aren’t willing to follow them, then we’ll have to escort you out of prom. You don’t want that, do you?”

Jillian crosses her arms. “You know what, I’ll make it easy for you. I’ll leave.”

Then she storms off.

The principal and the parents look at Erin as if daring her to make her choice.

She follows Jillian.

 

Jillian is fuming as she bursts out of the doors of the school and into the night air. They have some nerve. _Inappropriate?_ Rules of conduct? It’s all a bunch of bullshit. All they were doing was _dancing_. It didn’t _mean_ anything.

Her throat tightens.

She hears the doors slam open behind her but doesn’t stop.

“Jillian!”

She stops.

She turns.

“Erin?” She frowns. “Don’t…what are you doing?”

Erin rolls her eyes. “Come on, as if I’d want to stay there without you.”

Jillian’s hands hang stiffly at her sides. “Oh.”

She starts walking again. Erin follows.

“Principal Davis is an asshole,” Erin says as they walk. They’re not heading in the direction of the parking lot. “We didn’t do anything…wrong.”

What does _that_ mean?

Jillian doesn’t say anything. They keep walking. They reach the field and don’t stop.

Erin shivers beside her. Jillian eyes her, then shrugs off her jacket and holds it to Erin wordlessly.

Erin takes it after a pause. “Thank you.”

They walk as far as they can until they’re at the corner where the fences meet. Their Spot. They’ll always keep coming back to the nearly-invisible places where all the lines intersect.

Jillian sits down on the grass. Erin joins her.

“We’re going to get eaten by a bear,” Jillian says sullenly.

Erin laughs quietly. “There’s no bears.”

Jillian rips up a handful of grass and lets it drop again.

“Jillian,” Erin says softly, “if there’s anything you…want to tell me…you can, okay? You don’t have to be scared to.”

Jillian rips up another handful of grass. She stares up at the moon. Closes her eyes.

“I think I’m gay, Erin.”

She hears Erin suck in air. There are crickets chirping somewhere.

Something heavy leans on her shoulder, and she opens her eyes. Erin’s resting her head there. Warm. Solid.

“It’s okay,” Erin whispers.

Jillian exhales. “Really?” she whispers back.

Erin nods her head. Jillian feels it moving against her neck.

“Did you know?” Jillian says.

“I wondered.”

“Since when?”

“Since Carl called you that name.”

“Oh.” Just since then. Not since they shared a kiss in the woods under the moon on a night just like this.

“Does Mark know? Did…”

She answers the unspoken question, too. “Nobody. You’re the first.”

“Oh.” Erin snuggles even closer so their arms and knees are touching. “I’m proud of you for telling me.”

“You don’t hate me? You’re not weirded out? You don’t have to be my roommate next year if it’s going to make you uncomfortable.”

“How could I ever hate you, Jillian?” Erin pulls her head off her shoulder and twists so she’s facing her. “And…well, you’ve always weirded me out. You’re weird. Remember?”

Jillian smiles a little. “I am.”

Erin smiles back, face softened by the moonlight. Jillian studies her.

So beautiful. So, so beautiful.

Impulsively, she leans in. Brushes her lips ever so softly against Erin’s.

Then she pulls back, hard.

“Shit,” she says. “Shit. I’m sorry. Why did I do that?” She shakes her head rapidly. “Shit. I’m—”

Erin reaches her hand to touch Jillian’s bicep. “Jillian, Jillian, stop.”

Jillian holds her breath.

“It’s okay,” Erin says.

It is?

Jillian blinks.

“You can do it again,” Erin whispers.

It takes Jillian a few seconds, but then she leans in again. This time her lips press firmer against Erin’s, and Erin kisses her back, her hand coming up to cradle the back of Jillian’s neck.

It’s clear they both still don’t know what they’re doing, but she doesn’t mind. That just means that neither one of them has been kissing anyone else since.

After a long kiss, they pull back apart. Erin’s hand is still on her neck.

Something stirs in Jillian’s stomach. What does this mean?

Erin breathes out. “We can’t…uh. We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Jillian flinches back a bit. “I thought you said there was nothing wrong about this?”

“I don’t think…that there is,” Erin says quietly. “Other people do.” She doesn’t meet Jillian’s eyes. Her voice shakes. “We don’t need another reason for people to hate us.”

“So…so what, then? We pretend like this didn’t happen?” Jillian swallows. Can she do that?

Erin looks like she might cry. “Or…or we don’t tell anybody.”

“But…keep doing this?”

Erin pauses, then nods.

Jillian doesn’t want to hide any part of herself. She’s not ashamed. She never has been.

But she looks at Erin, beautiful Erin, and she nods, too. “Okay.”

“Even Abby,” Erin says.

Jillian is surprised. Abby’s their best friend.

“Shoot,” Erin says. “Abby. I forgot about Abby. I hope she’s okay.”

“We could go find out,” Jillian says, “since we’ve already bailed on prom.”

“Yeah,” Erin says. “Yeah, we should do that.”

They walk back to Erin’s car and drive first to Abby’s house, where her dad says that she’s still at the hospital with appendicitis. They drive there next, and find Dr. Yates in the waiting room.

She blinks at them. “Girls! What are you doing here?”

“We came to see if Abby’s okay,” Erin says.

“She’s in surgery,” Dr. Yates says. “They’re removing her appendix.”

“Poor Abby,” Jillian says.

“She’ll be sad that you girls aren’t at prom,” Dr. Yates says.

They look at each other and shrug.

“It was okay,” Erin says.

When Jillian gets home hours later, she finds Mark waiting up for her.

“How was it?” he asks, keeping his voice down so he doesn’t wake Luke.

She shrugs. “Mediocre.”

She’s about to go to bed, to get out of this suit and go and contemplate everything, but she stops herself.

“Hey, Mark?”

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“There’s something I want to tell you.”

He nods, encouraging her to continue.

“I’m gay,” she says, “and I don’t care if you don’t approve of that. It’s who I am, and my mom always told me that the most important thing in life is being proud of who you are, and I am. Proud of myself. So if you’re not, I don’t really care, and—”

“Jillian,” he says, holding up a hand. “I agree with your mom. Being yourself is the most important thing, and I’m so proud of you that you’re so unapologetically yourself. Your mom would’ve been so proud of you, too. I love you, kiddo, and nothing will change that. Not this, not anything.”

She stares for a few seconds, then throws her arm around him in the tightest hug she’s ever given him in all the years that they’ve known each other.

“Thank you,” she murmurs against his chest.

 

Abby makes a full recovery. They tell her vague details about prom, like the decorations. They don’t say anything about being kicked out, or about their kiss on the field.

The school year winds down in a blur of studying. They’re all trying to pull off 4.0 GPAs.

They take all their exams, and before they know it, they’re graduating.

Erin never thought that she’d be graduating with two friends, two _best_ friends at her side, but here she is. She crosses the stage to polite applause. Abby crosses to her mom and dad cheering extra loud. Jillian crosses to Mark hollering loudly, and Erin sees the tears in her eyes and knows that she wishes her mom was here.

After the ceremony, Erin’s parents shake her hand, then leave for home. Abby’s parents and Mark envelope her in large hugs to compensate, and take a million photos of the three of them in their caps and gowns.

It’s a bittersweet day, but mostly sweet.

Erin finally gets to move on. In a few short months, the three of them will be in Ann Arbor together, far from their parents, far from all the kids who have made their lives miserable. They can start fresh.

She can’t wait.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I posting this at like 2:00am only a few days after the last part? Yes, yes I am. I'M IMPATIENT, OKAY? (And a lil giddy rn for REASONS). LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THIIIINK! We're entering into the cute phase, friends ;)


	6. I said we were opposite lovers

iv.

Erin drives herself to Ann Arbor with her car packed full of her most important belongings. Her parents expressed no interest in dropping her off, but she doesn’t care. She’s eighteen now, an adult, and she doesn’t need them. Besides, she’d rather do this alone, anyway. She can always enlist the help of Abby’s parents or Mark.

Erin spends the drive with nervous butterflies in her stomach. She’s a little scared about what to expect from college, but having her two best friends at her side helps.

When she gets there, everything is madness. There are hundreds of new students and their parents. Some peppy volunteers direct her to her building. All three of them got accepted to the Martha Cook Building, which is an all-female residence that was built in 1915. It’s a beautiful old building, Erin thinks as she hauls her stuff inside.

When she finally reaches her room, she finds the door open and Jillian already waiting for her.

She bounces her butt eagerly on one of the beds. “You made it!”

Erin laughs and sets down her first box. “And you’ve picked a side already, I see.”

“Ya snooze, ya lose,” Jillian says with a grin.

“Where’s Mark and Luke?”

“Already took off,” Jillian says. “We came up pretty early. I was too excited.”

“Damn,” Erin says, “I was hoping to get Mark’s help with moving my stuff up.”

Jillian leaps off the bed. “I can help!”

As they walk back down to the parking lot, Erin appraises some of the other girls that they pass.

“Is Abby here yet?”

Jillian shrugs. “Haven’t seen her. Maybe?”

It takes them a while, but the two of them manage to lug the contents of her car up to their room and then collapse on their bare beds when they’re done.

Erin groans. “I don’t even want to _think_ about unpacking yet.”

A voice from the doorway says, “Nap time already? The pressures of college getting to you guys?”

They sit up.

“Abby!” Erin says.

Abby steps into their room and looks around. “Nice place you got here.”

“Have you met your roommate yet?” Jillian asks.

“Nope,” Abby says. “She’s still not here. My parents just left.”

“I hope she’s nice,” Erin says.

“As long as she’s not a complete wack-job, I’ll be fine,” Abby says. “Anyway, I should get back so I don’t miss her. I just wanted to stop by and say hi. Dinner later?”

“Hell yeah,” Jillian says.

After Abby leaves, they get a second wind and start to tackle unpacking. Erin fills her dresser while Jillian decides that her priority is decorating. She sets out a photo of her and her mom on her desk, then hangs some posters.

“I have some stuff, too,” Erin says from where she’s organizing her new sock drawer. “Are you okay if I put up string lights?”

“Absolutely,” Jillian says.

Erin smiles. She knew Jillian would understand about her need to have lights in the room while she sleeps.

Erin abandons the dresser and helps Jillian decorate until the room feels like _theirs_.

Jillian stands in the center with her hands on her hips and surveys the room. “Is it just me, or is the layout in here terrible?”

“It kind of is,” Erin says. All the furniture seems to be in the way, no matter where they are in the room.

Jillian taps a finger on her chin and hums. “I have an idea.”

“Oh?”

“It’s a little crazy.”

“We’re not throwing anything out the window,” Erin says warily.

“Noted,” Jillian says, “but that’s not what I was gonna suggest.” She steeples her fingers under her chin. “Two words. Super Bed.”

Erin blinks. “What?”

“We take both the beds and smoosh ’em together against that wall.” Jillian points. “And then that leaves _that_ wall completely open for our desks. Boom. Way more space.”

Erin feels like she’s missing something. “But then our beds will be together?”

“Super Bed,” Jillian repeats with a nod.

“Jillian, we have to sleep in them.”

“Yeah? And? We’d still have the same amount of space that we would before. Our beds would just be touching.”

“But _why?_ ”

“For more space! Keep up.”

Erin is keeping up just fine. She just wonders what people might think.

They haven’t really talked about anything…about _them_ …since prom night. They’ve kissed a handful of times since then, but only when they’re completely alone and there’s no chance of anyone seeing them.

Erin is a little scared of how much alone time they’re going to have this year.

And she’s especially scared that Jillian is going to read too far into it.

Truthfully, Erin’s not sure why she told Jillian to kiss her again. It just kind of came out of her, and ever since that moment, she’s regretted it.

Not that she doesn’t like kissing Jillian. It’s nice.

But that doesn’t change the fact that they shouldn’t be doing this. Well, _Jillian_ should be, but Erin shouldn’t be. She likes boys. She knows that.

She bets that she would enjoy kissing _anyone_ , probably. Wouldn’t anyone? It feels the same regardless of who the lips belong to. That’s why she likes it. That’s why she keeps letting it happen.

So why does it feel so important that it _is_ Jillian on the other end? Why won’t her brain let her forget that?

Jillian is still waiting for an answer on the Super Bed front. Erin supposes that Abby is the only one who’ll be in their room, anyway, and she probably won’t think anything of it.

Erin shrugs. “Sure. Why not. If it’ll save space.” She emphasis that. That’s the only reason. She needs Jillian to know that.

This whole _situation_ between them will be fine, as long as Jillian knows that Erin isn’t serious about it. That it doesn’t mean anything.

“Sweeeet!” Jillian pumps her fist in the air.

They manage to pull and push Jillian’s bed across so it joins up with Erin’s against the wall. Jillian was right—it does open up a _lot_ of space in the room. They slide the desks so they’re side by side against the opposite wall.

“Boom,” Jillian says. “It’s no bunkbed, but it’ll do.”

They make their beds…or _bed_ , and put the rest of their clothes away. Erin unpacks her last few boxes of other belongings and finds places for everything on her desk, in the closet, and on her dresser.

Finally, she crawls up onto the Super Bed—now she can only access her bed from the end of it—and flops down on her stomach.

Jillian finishes a few minutes later and comes and joins her. As soon as she stretches out on her half, Erin realizes that she underestimated how _close_ they’re going to be.

Jillian props herself up on her side. Erin turns her head to look at her.

“Hi,” Jillian says.

“Hi.”

Erin watches Jillian’s chest rise and fall as she breathes.

“Are you looking at my boobs?” Jillian stage-whispers.

Erin recoils. “ _Jillian,_ ” she hisses. “The door is open!”

Jillian smirks and rolls onto her back.

Erin has some regrets.

 

Jillian isn’t an idiot.

She knows Erin isn’t interested in her, not really. That would be too convenient.

This _thing_ that they’re doing, friends who sometimes kiss each other (especially during moments of emotional vulnerability), is going to blow up in their faces like a poorly constructed stink bomb.

She knows that.

And yet, she lets it go on anyway. She likes Erin too much. She’ll take what she can get, even if what she can get gives her a bad feeling.

Not when she’s actually kissing Erin. That doesn’t give her a bad feeling at all. In fact, she never feels happier than she does when it happens.

It’s later, in the down time between, when she gets an ache in her throat thinking about Erin, when she lies awake at night and wants more than she knows Erin will ever give her. Than she would ever _expect_ Erin to give her.

Erin’s scared, embarrassed…ashamed, even. She gets that. She would never push her into anything. _Ever_.

All she can do is hope, pray, that maybe one day this _thing_ turns into something real.

And if it doesn’t and she has to deal with the heartbreak, well, she’ll only have herself to blame.

She knows exactly what she’s doing.

 

Their first week in college is confusing.

The three of them get lost a lot, and by the end of the week Erin has an overwhelming stack of syllabi. It’s going to be an intense year.

The three of them are in several of the same classes over the year. Especially Erin and Abby, who are both tentatively majoring in physics. Abby’s been talking about maybe double majoring in astronomy as well.

Jillian, on the other hand, is enrolled in the engineering department. She doesn’t know what area she wants to concentrate in. The engineering department is at the North Campus, so she spends most of her time over there, but bikes back and forth frequently.

Jillian still has to take the same introductory physics and math classes that Abby and Erin do, so that’s where they overlap. That, and German 101. Abby’s not in it, but Erin and Jillian are. It was Jillian’s idea.

“Gotta get in touch with my German roots,” she had said.

Erin thought it might be fun. God knows she didn’t have much luck with high school Spanish. She thought maybe German would be easier.

Turns out, her second-language-learning skills are universally terrible.

And, it also turns out that Jillian’s photographic memory makes her absolutely infuriating to learn a language with. She just remembers everything. _Everything_. Without even trying.

She is, of course, really sweet about it, and helps Erin make flash cards, quizzes her frequently, patiently corrects her mistakes, but it’s still maddening.

At least she’s excelling in math and physics.

They had all hoped that maybe their college professors would be more open-minded to metaphysics and the paranormal than their high school teachers were, but it turns out they’re just as intolerant to the idea.

Not to be deterred, they keep up their research on the side, in their (limited) spare time, applying the new things they’re learning in their classes to their existing theories. Abby, as promised, spends a lot of time in their room. Her roommate, Diana, has turned out to be, to use Abby’s words, a complete wack-job after all. She’s always accusing Abby of touching her stuff, even though Abby barely spends any time in the room. When she’s not in class or in Erin and Jillian’s room, she’s at curling practice.

Erin and Jillian don’t have nearly as much alone time as Erin thought they would, and she’s simultaneously relieved and disappointed. The most they’re ever alone is at night, after Abby’s gone back to her room to sleep.

One thing that Erin’s learning is that Jillian’s a very cuddly person. She always kind of knew that—Jillian’s always been tactile and physically affectionate, and not just with Erin—but this is a whole other level. It isn’t uncommon for Jillian to migrate over to her side of the Super Bed in her sleep, for Erin to wake up with Jillian’s arm draped over her torso. It doesn’t bother her that much.

They cuddle in the daytime, too, though, and that bothers her a bit more. It’s innocent and platonic enough that Abby doesn’t seem to notice (although Abby’s not good at picking up on that sort of thing anyway) but it still worries Erin.

They’ll be sitting on the Super Bed doing homework, and Jillian’s arm will be around her waist in a seemingly absentminded way as she chews on a pencil and scratches down answers. Erin will be putting her freshly laundered clothes in her dresser, and Jillian will come up and hug her from behind for no reason at all. They’ll be stretched out reading before bed and their legs will be tangled under the covers, and sometimes Erin will rest her head on Jillian’s shoulder like she’s done before, only now it sort of _means_ something. Sometimes, if Abby’s not there, they’ll cuddle in the Super Bed, sometimes talking, sometimes just lying there quietly. If Jillian’s the little spoon, then Erin will curl against her, inhaling the scent of her hair, her pomegranate shampoo. If they’re facing the other way, Jillian will trace patterns on her back with her fingertip.

“What are you drawing?” she asks one day.

“Math,” Jillian replies.

“You’re drawing math?”

“I’m doing math.”

“On my back? But you hate math.”

“I know,” Jillian says.

She never does explain what math she’s doing.

 

Jillian loves college.

She loves the classes, she loves the freedom…hell, she even loves the crappy food.

She thinks she might even love Erin, too.

(She’s always loved Erin, of course, but this is different).

She loves their Super Bed, and how close she gets to be to Erin every night. The beds hold up well like that. Sometimes, because Jillian moves around a lot while she sleeps, her bed will start to slide away from Erin’s. It’s not a problem, not really, as long as she notices and pushes them back together before one of them falls into the emerging crevice between them.

She doesn’t have nightmares anymore. For the first time since the accident, she doesn’t dream about the crash.

It’s Erin’s presence, she knows it is.

One day she’s sitting on her half, reading, and the door unlocks and opens.

She shoves the item in her hands back under her pillow.

Erin raises an eyebrow as she shuts the door behind her. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing,” Jillian says quickly.

Comprehension dawns on Erin’s face. “Are you reading porn?”

Jillian covers her mouth as she laughs. “No.”

“I don’t believe you,” Erin says. “Gross, Jillian.”

“First of all, it’s completely natural,” Jillian says, holding up one finger. “And second of all, I wasn’t. I swear.”

“Then why won’t you show me?”

Jillian surrenders and tugs the stack of papers out from their permanent home under her pillow. She holds them out. Erin takes them, stares for a few seconds, then looks up in surprise.

“I didn’t know you had this here.”

It’s Jillian’s copy of the Ghost Girl and Reptilian Jillian comic. She shrugs. “Of course.”

“Why do you keep it under your pillow?”

“That’s where I’ve always kept it. I dunno. I take it you don’t still have your copy?”

Erin hands her the comic, crosses the small room to her desk, and pulls a folder out of the bottom drawer of her desk under a large stack of other papers and folders.

Jillian almost snorts. Her own desk, in that same drawer, is where she hides her _actual_ porn.

Erin opens the folder and shows Jillian the neatly paperclipped comic within. “Of course I still have it.”

Jillian also notices the lizard pin she gave Erin in elementary school taped to the front of the file. There are rip marks in several spots, like the pin has been taped and removed and taped again many times.

Meanwhile, Jillian’s ghost pin is still proudly stuck on the front of her patchwork bag, which she carries her books in.

If that isn’t a metaphor for this whole damn situation, Jillian doesn’t know what is.

 

At Thanksgiving, the three of them lie to their parents and say they have to stay at the school and study instead of coming home. Well, Erin doesn’t bother; her parents don’t care either way. If they were going home, Erin probably would’ve gone to the Yateses for dinner.

They have a mission, though.

Erin is driving them out past Ypsilanti to Depot Town, and they’re about to spend their Thanksgiving staking out a supposedly haunted house.

They were right in thinking that they’d have access to way more materials in college, and now they’ve got enough credibility to go out and conduct proper research. Now they aren’t a group of teenaged hooligans, they’re a group of budding scientists doing university-level research. Not that they were ever _actually_ hooligans.

They reach their destination, an abandoned 1950s ranch house enclosed in a rusting hurricane fence. There are No Trespassing signs everywhere.

“This is a bit of a step up from Cabin 13,” Jillian says in Erin’s ear as they unload their borrowed equipment from the truck of the car.

And it has a more chilling legend, too. Apparently, on Thanksgiving Day in 1966, the owner of the house stuck his head in the oven after the Detroit Lions lost against the 49ers, 14-41. Ever since then, he’s said to haunt the house, and is especially active every Thanksgiving. Witnesses even report, most eerily, the smell of the turkey that the man had tossed out of the oven so as to make room for his head.

They find an entrance that isn’t boarded up, and enter the abandoned house. They follow their flashlight beams down to the kitchen.

“The stove is gone,” Erin says, pointing to the gaping hole. Everything else looks original. There are bits from the ceiling strewn on the floor with chunks of fiberglass insulation. Rats, probably. She shudders. “Why are there always rats?” she mutters to Jillian.

The rest of the house is badly trashed, and looks like someone was squatting there at some point, judging by the mattress in the living room.

“This is spooooky,” Jillian says.

“We’re gonna see a ghost tonight. I can feel it,” Abby says. “We should spend the night here.”

“Are you nuts?” Erin says. “We didn’t prepare for that, and—”

“Shh,” Abby says, holding up her hand. “Did you hear that?”

It was a definite creak, coming from somewhere else in the house.

“I’ll get the gear,” Jillian says, swinging Erin’s backpack off her shoulder and hurriedly pulling out the photoelectron spectrometer she had built them out of parts she nicked from the lab. She passes it to Abby. Erin dugs out the camcorder and starts recording.

They all creep back to the living room, where they see a green glow coming from the kitchen and hear a clatter and a few curse words. The ghost can speak? They look at each other excitedly.

Jillian pushes the kitchen door open.

For a second, they’re blinded with light.

“Who are you? I’m armed!” a voice shouts.

The light disappears and they take in a short woman holding a fork and a lantern.

“Scientists from U of M,” Abby says confidently, stretching the truth just a bit.

“Who are you?” Erin asks.

“Martha Kinsler. I’m writing a book. I’m here doing research.”

“A book about ghosts?” Jillian asks.

“No, about table settings,” Martha says with a roll of her eyes.

“Do you smell that?” Abby says excitedly. “Turkey! It’s him!”

Martha points to a bag on the counter. “It’s my dinner, actually. Would you stop waving that thing around?”

Abby lowers the device in her hand. “Sorry.”

“What does that do, anyway?”

“Measures ionization,” Jillian says.

“So you really are scientists, huh?” Martha looks contemplative. “If you ever prove anything, you’re going to want to publish that. The paranormal is big with publishers right now. If you need a ghost writer, no pun intended, gimme a call, okay?” She hands Jillian her card.

At that moment, red and blue lights bounce through the windows.

“Oh shit,” Jillian says.

“Run!” Martha shouts.

They do. They make it out of the house and hide until the police drive away, then go back to Erin’s car.

“Well, that could’ve been more successful,” Abby says, clearly bummed.

Erin watches Jillian pocket Martha’s card. “Could’ve gone worse, too,” Jillian says.

The rest of their first year goes by in a blur of studying, ghost research, and more studying. Erin passes German, but barely. She gets A’s on all her other exams.

In the second semester, she doesn’t take any dumb electives, and gets straight A’s. By the end of the year, she knows for sure that she’s going to major in physics. Jillian is still up in the air about which type of engineering she’s most interested in.

On move-out day, they pack up their shared room and say goodbye to it. They rearrange the furniture so it’s back to how it was when they moved in. No more Super Bed.

Erin is a little sad to say goodbye to the room. It almost seems like their fourth friend.

Jillian, finger pressed to her lips, carves a small _GG + RJ_ underneath her desk with her Swiss Army knife. Erin tries to pretend she disapproves.

She doesn’t, really.

 

The three of them move back home to Battle Creek for the summer. Erin goes back to her waitressing job. Abby gets a job as a lifeguard. Jillian gets a job as a barista, which she finds extremely easy because she has no problem remembering people’s orders, even difficult ones. She likes inventing her own beverages, which she does until she’s got a hoard of regulars who only ever ask for the Jillian Special.

She also learns to drive. Mark teaches her. She already had her learners, but her driving education was put on hold indefinitely after the accident. Now, though she feels slightly less terrified.

Mark is patient with her, and she only practices in empty parking lots and in their cul-de-sac for a long time until she feels more confident.

She doesn’t see a lot of Abby and Erin, because all three of them are busy with work and have conflicting schedules a lot of the time. When she does hang out with them, it’s usually one or the other, never the three of them at the same time.

In July, the second anniversary of Jillian’s mom’s death approaches. She can’t believe it’s been two years. Sometimes, it still feels like she’s just gone on a vacation and will be back.

One night, about a week before the 15th, Erin is over at her house and they’re watching movies together in Jillian’s room. She likes when they get to do this, because she can hold Erin and it’s not that weird. Plus, Mark never comes in without knocking, so they don’t have to worry about him seeing.

She’s pretty sure that Mark suspects there’s something going on between them anyway, but he doesn’t say anything.

Erin shifts in her arms. “I was thinking.”

“Yeah? ’Bout what?”

“What are you doing on…the 15th?”

Jillian stiffens. “Nothing,” she says. “I booked the day off work.”

“So you’re probably just going to be here, then?”

“That’s the plan,” Jillian says. Curl up in a ball, probably cry a lot, and avoid everyone. That’s what she did last year, too.

“What if we went somewhere instead?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like what if we drove somewhere and did something to take your mind off everything? It might be better than sitting here alone.”

Jillian thinks.

She doesn’t want to be alone, no.

“Okay,” she says.

Erin books the day off too, and they drive the hour out to Yankee Springs State Park on Gun Lake. Jillian is quiet for the whole drive, and so is Erin. Jillian stares out the window at the passing scenery and thinks about her mom.

She no longer has to watch obsessively out the window in a car unless she’s the one driving. She trusts Erin. Erin might even pay more attention to the world around her than Jillian does.

They lay out a blanket on one of the beaches that runs the length of the lake. Jillian drops onto it and kicks off her shoes. Erin joins her.

They don’t say much, just stare out at the water. It’s a nice change of scenery.

“This reminds me of camp,” Erin says.

Jillian hums in agreement. The waterfront is remarkably similar. The lake their camp was on was smaller, though. More private.

She watches mothers play with their young children, her throat tight. “I miss her, Erin.”

Erin wraps her arm around her and pulls her in tight. Jillian inhales against the bare skin of Erin’s shoulder. Her eyes fill with tears.

“I know you do, Jillian. I know.”

“I miss her so much. Every day.”

“I know. I’m so sorry.”

A few of Jillian’s tears mix with the sunscreen on Erin’s shoulder, and the milky mixture runs down her arm.

“Come on,” Erin says, and pulls them to their feet. She takes Jillian’s hand and leads them back into the forest, well away from everyone on the beach. Once they’re out of view, she leans Jillian against a tree, takes her face in both hands, and kisses her.

Jillian responds right away, her hands sliding up Erin’s back to pull her closer.

Here they go again, kissing only when one of them needs it, when they’re emotional. She’s starting to rely on it in moments like this, and that scares her.

This kiss tastes salty from Jillian’s tears, and she’s ashamed to say that this isn’t a first-time occurrence. There was the one over Christmas, when Erin’s parents phoned to say they didn’t want her to come home for the holiday. Erin had cried for an hour straight after that.

Jillian knows this isn’t healthy.

Maybe that should be her next goal. Kissing Erin when they’re happy. Or even neutral…bored…anything but upset.

 

The rest of the summer zips by. Work days and long, summer nights melt together. Erin can’t wait for September. She’s beginning to despise Battle Creek.

She turns nineteen. She feels old.

“Two years older than me,” Jillian says.

“That’s not how time works,” Erin says.

September comes and they move back to Ann Arbor, where the three of them sign a lease on a two-bedroom apartment.

“Abby, since you drew the short stick last time around, you get first pick this time,” Erin says. “Single or double?”

“I’ll take the single, if you’re offering,” Abby says. “Between your snoring and Thrashy McThrasherpants over here, I don’t want to room with _either_ of you.”

“I don’t snore,” Erin says.

“Yeah you do,” Jillian says, but she doesn’t sound mad about it at all.

Her and Jillian’s new room is even smaller than their dorm room was. They stand in the middle of it after their furniture has been moved in.

“Super Bed?” Jillian asks.

“Super Bed,” Erin confirms.

 

Jillian turns eighteen. She’s finally an adult. The age gap between her and Erin had never felt as wide as it did this past year.

Their second year of college is full of more generic classes, but Jillian decides on a major.

“Nuclear engineering?” Erin says. “Wow.”

“What can I say?” Jillian says. “You got me hooked on those damn particles. I still want to see if I can take them apart.”

“If you have the right tools, anything’s possible,” Erin says.

The year is mostly uneventful. The three of them learn about all of each other’s quirks as roommates. Abby never remembers to hang her towels up after she showers, and leaves them on the floor in the bathroom. Jillian sings while she cooks, usually pretty badly. Erin goes for runs at 6:00am and wakes all of them up getting ready.

(Jillian already knew about that one, but she got used to it last year).

Despite it all, they love living together. They’re all pretty busy with their school workloads, and don’t spend tons of time together, which is probably why they haven’t ripped each others’ heads off yet.

They finish the year after a grueling finals season, and Erin announces that she’s going to stay in Ann Arbor over the summer to work. That makes a lot of sense to Jillian. She knows that Erin doesn’t like going back to Battle Creek anymore.

“I’ll stay too,” she says casually.

Erin looks at her. “Really? What about Mark and Luke, though?”

Sure, Jillian will miss her little brother, but she can go back a few times for short visits. He’s turning five this summer. She can’t believe that he’ll be starting kindergarten come September.

“Well, I’m going back,” Abby says. “Try not to demolish the apartment while I’m gone.”

“Please, Abby, as if you aren’t the messiest out of all of us,” Erin says.

Abby’s mouth falls open. “Oh, come on! I know you have your head a little up Jillian’s butt, but have you _seen_ her mess around this place?”

Erin turns a little red across her face and chest.

After Abby’s gone, something weird settles in the apartment. Abby gave them permission to sleep in her bedroom if one of them wants, but neither of them do. They stay in their room together.

Erin finds a new job at the mall, and Jillian gets another barista job. She likes it.

It’s easier to coordinate schedules when there’s only two of them and they live together. They see way more of each other than they did last summer.

One night, they’re cuddling on the couch that they bought at a garage sale and watching a movie on Jillian’s TV, the one she brought with her from home. Marge the hula dancer is still taped to the top.

Jillian wants to try something. She snuggles her face into the crook of Erin’s neck and then very deliberately kisses the skin there.

Erin turns her head. “What are you doing?”

Jillian pulls back. Puts some distance between them. “Nothing.”

Experiment failed.

She doesn’t try again for the rest of the summer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What will these nerds get up to in their next two years of college? Only time (and the second half of this section) will tell. Hint: it's a LOT.


	7. (you kept trying to prove me wrong)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for blood.

Third year is brutal. Erin is exhausted all the time trying to get through her classes. She has no clue how Abby is managing to double major. Or Jillian, with all the hours she spends in the engineering labs.

Something has changed between her and Jillian this year. It feels like they’re growing apart. They don’t see each other as much as they’d like. They haven’t kissed in over a year, now. It’s probably for the best.

Whatever they were doing, it was just a phase. An exploration, or something. Maybe an experiment.

Erin starts to think about the possibility of dating someone. She feels like her life has been wrapped up with Jillian for years now, and what good does that do? They both need to move on. They can’t do this forever.

Erin wonders how she’s supposed to find a guy. There’s this guy in her Methods of Theoretical Physics class who she thinks is kind of cute. She makes a point of sitting next to him. His name is Peter. She tries to talk to him at least once a week.

In November, he asks her to go get coffee with him and she excitedly agrees. They go get coffee after class. He talks a lot, and doesn’t let her speak much, but it’s still nice. After they finish, he says he wants to take her to dinner sometime. They agree on Friday night. He even says he’ll come pick her up.

On Friday evening, she puts on more makeup than usual and picks out a nice outfit. When she exits the bathroom, she smells onions. Abby and Jillian are in the kitchen.

Jillian looks up from where she’s cutting up a pepper and seems to do a double take. “You look nice.”

Abby looks over her shoulder from her place in front of the stove. “We’re making chilli. You want in?”

“I, uh, I have a date,” Erin says.

Jillian stills.

“Really?” Abby asks.

Erin nods.

“Huh,” Abby says. “Cool.”

Erin takes a seat on one of the mismatched chairs at their kitchen table to wait for Peter. Their intercom sounds less than ten minutes later, and she buzzes him up.

She opens the door after there’s a knock, and there he is. She smiles. “Come in! I’ll get my coat.”

He steps inside and looks around the apartment.

“Hello!” Abby says.

“Those are my roommates, Abby and Jillian,” Erin says as she puts her coat on.

Peter gives a little wave.

“Fuck,” Jillian says. Her knife clatters to the cutting board and she clutches her hand.

“What happened?” Erin says.

“Cut myself.”

Abby sets down the wooden spoon in her hand and moves to take a look. She’s the only one out of the three of them who has first aid training.

She tsks. “That’s a lot of blood. Doesn’t look that deep, though. You won’t need stitches. Come on, let’s go clean that up.”

She pulls Jillian in the direction of the bathroom.

“Have a good time,” Abby calls over her shoulder.

Erin watches them disappear and then hears the sound of water running. She turns back to Peter. “Uh…I guess we can leave.”

Dinner is fine, if a little boring. All he talks about is himself.

If this is what dating is like, then maybe Erin hasn’t been missing out on a whole lot.

At the end of the night, he drives her back to her apartment. Outside the building, he kisses her goodnight. It’s okay. Rougher than her kisses with Jillian—in the sense that it’s firmer, a bit more forceful, but also in the sense that his stubble scratches at her face unpleasantly.

“You gonna invite me upstairs?” he says as he traps her against the side of the building and kisses her neck, then bites the skin there.

It takes Erin a few seconds to realize what he’s asking. Implying. Her heart starts beating faster and her chest tightens, the familiar beginnings of a panic attack about the unknown.

“Uhh…my roommates are home,” she says.

“I’m sure they won’t mind.” He runs one hand up and under her shirt.

She nudges his hand away. “They will.”

“Why don’t you come back to my place, then?” he asks.

“No, thanks.”

He stops kissing her and steps back, something angry in his eyes. “What do you mean, no? I thought we had a good time tonight?”

It wasn’t _terrible_ , but that doesn’t mean she wants to _sleep_ with him. Does she even want to date a guy who expects sex on the first date? Well, technically second, but still.

“I just mean no,” Erin says, ducking away from him. “Thank you for dinner.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he says snidely, and that’s the last thing she hears before she gets inside the building. Her heart is still racing.

She tries to sort out her face so it won’t give anything away to the others. When she enters the apartment, Abby and Jillian are sitting side by side on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, watching TV. Jillian’s finger is wrapped with gauze.

“How was your date?” Abby asks.

“Alright,” Erin says, kicking off her shoes.

“You gonna see him again?” Abby shoves a handful of popcorn in her mouth.

“I don’t think so,” Erin says.

Is it her imagination, or does Jillian look relieved?

She crosses the room and squeezes beside her on the couch.

“How’s your finger?”

“I’ll live.”

Erin reaches across to take her own handful of popcorn. “So what are we watching?”

She has to wear turtlenecks for a week to hide the hickey on her neck. She’s sure Jillian must see it anyway, considering they sleep in the same bed, but she never mentions it.

 

Now that they’re in their third year, their classes are way harder. Way more specialized. Jillian gets her first real taste of nuclear engineering classes and labs.

At the beginning of the year, she was one of two girls, but the other girl dropped out by October.

She’s pretty sure all the guys are scared of her. She’s used to that.

They all call her by her last name, probably to make her seem like less of a girl.

She doesn’t mind it, actually. She’s always liked her last name. She likes the sound of it. It sounds strong, her mom always said.

And now it’s the last trace of her mom. She’s the last Holtzmann. Luke has Mark’s surname.

She embraces it. She even introduces herself that way to her professors and classmates.

At Christmas, Jillian takes Erin home to spend the holiday with her, Mark, and Luke like she did last year. Everything feels different from last year, though.

They’re teetering on the brink of whatever explosion she had predicted would eventually happen. She doesn’t know if it’s inevitable at this point, or if she can ward it off.

To her obscene relief, Erin doesn’t go out on any more dates, so that’s something, at least. They also don’t kiss anymore, so that’s something as well.

It’s confusing. Jillian doesn’t feel as sure about the situation as she did before. She doesn’t understand it as much as she used to.

Second semester is just as hard as first semester. Maybe even harder. By the time finals roll around, they’re all completely burnt out.

The day after their last exams, the day before Abby goes back to Battle Creek for the summer (Jillian and Erin are staying in Ann Arbor again), they plan to let loose and celebrate being done their third year. Abby already turned 21 back in February, so she’s been their booze supplier ever since.

They end up sprawled in their living room, playing Never Have I Ever. It’s not the wildest night, but they’re having fun (and getting a little drunk).

“Never have I ever been homeschooled,” Abby says.

Jillian flips her off and drinks. “Is that how it’s going to be? Fine, never have I ever gotten potassium poisoning from eating thirteen bananas in a row.”

Abby sticks out her tongue. “I regret telling you that story,” she says, then drinks.

And so it goes, around and around the circle.

“Never, ummmm…” Erin drums her fingers on the carpet. “Never have I ever…had sex.” Nobody moves. Erin looks surprised. “Wait, really?”

What did she think? Abby’s not interested in that sort of thing, and Jillian…who the hell would she have slept with when her heart belongs to Erin?

Erin takes her punishment drink. “That’s kind of embarrassing,” she says with a sigh. “We’re in our twenties.”

“I’m not,” Jillian points out.

“How is that embarrassing?” Abby says. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Easy for you to say,” Erin says.

Abby shrugs. “Okay, if we’re going down this road now…never have I ever kissed a guy.”

Erin, cheeks pink, drinks. Jillian runs her tongue along her teeth and tries to push the thought from her mind.

“Never have I ever…streaked through a grocery store,” Jillian says.

“Why the hell are you targeting me?” Abby says, and drinks again.

“Erin’s a lightweight,” Jillian says.

“Am not,” Erin says, then hiccups.

Jillian rolls her eyes.

“Never have I ever been skinny dipping,” Erin says, her voice challenging.

Jillian raises her cup with a nod of acknowledgement, then drinks.

“Never, uh, never have I ever…” Abby scrunches up her face, clearly stumped. “Never have I ever broken a bone.” _I’m sorry_ , she mouths to Jillian afterwards.

Jillian sighs and drinks. Her turn again. So Erin wants to play? Good. “Never have I ever gotten my first period at summer camp and been so embarrassed that I buried my stained underwear in the forest.”

Erin turns scarlet. “ _Jillian._ ”

Jillian smirks. _Your move_ , she tries to say with her eyes.

Erin, face flaming, takes the tiniest sip from her drink, then sits up straighter. “Okay. Never have I ever peed my pants…in _high school._ ”

“Oh ho, Erin Gilbert with the big guns!” Jillian says with glee, then tips the last of her drink into her mouth. “Aw,” she says, “all gone.”

“Do I want to know?” Abby says.

“Erin made me laugh. Her fault.” Jillian walks to the kitchen and refills her cup. “Your turn, Abby,” she says when she gets back.

Abby holds up her hands. “Actually, I think I’m tapping out. I can’t compete with this.”

Jillian boos as Abby takes her cup to the kitchen.

“I’m going to bed,” Abby says. “Try not to drink so much that you’re too hungover to get out of bed and come say goodbye to me tomorrow morning.”

“Niiight, Abby,” they chorus as she closes her bedroom door.

“You wanna keep playing?” Jillian asks, stretching out her legs on the carpet in front of her.

“I think we know each other too well for this game,” Erin says.

“Damn. I just poured myself a new drink, though.”

Erin looks into her own cup. “I’ve still got half mine to go, too.”

“How?” Jillian asks.

“You were going after Abby instead of me, that’s how.”

They fall silent. Jillian takes a long sip from her drink. “You wanna watch something, then?”

“Sure.”

They put on the TV, low enough that it won’t bother Abby, and move up to sit on the couch. Erin sits right on the edge, leaning her elbows on her knees. Jillian casually stretches her arm along the back of the couch.

She’s not watching whatever’s on TV, not really. She follows the curve of Erin’s neck, counts the baby hairs that have escaped from her ponytail.

After a while, she slides her arm down from the top of the couch and walks her fingertips up Erin’s back lightly. Erin stiffens for a second, then relaxes. Jillian draws a little smiley face at the base of Erin’s neck with the tip of her index finger, then trails her hand all the way down Erin’s spine. Erin shivers. Jillian’s hand lands on the small of her back and rests there.

She realizes she’s neglecting her drink, and takes a few gulps.

She’s pretty sure she’s drunk at this point.

God, Erin’s pretty. She’s so pretty. She’s always been so pretty.

“You’re pretty,” she says.

Erin looks back at her. For a second, Jillian thinks she might get in trouble for saying so, but then Erin gives a little smile.

“Except you got—” Jillian reaches up with the hand that was on Erin’s back and swipes another loose hair off Erin’s face, tucking it behind her ear. “There.”

Her hand lingers at the side of Erin’s face for a few seconds, then she pulls it back and outstretches her arm on the back of the couch again, far from Erin.

“Are you really that embarrassed about not having lost your virginity?” Jillian blurts.

“Um.” Erin sits up and adjusts so she’s sitting further in on the couch, then she leans back against Jillian’s arm. Jillian’s hand curls around her shoulder instinctively. “Not embarrassed, just…I don’t know.”

Erin takes a long drink from her cup, finishing it off. Her thumb taps against the side of the empty cup. Jillian waits for her to elaborate.

“Just…anxious about it, I guess,” Erin says.

Jillian drinks, then rests her (still very full) cup on her knee. “Why?”

“Because I feel like the older I get, the weirder and more obvious it’s going to be that I don’t know what I’m doing my first time,” Erin says in a rush.

Jillian considers that.

Then, before she can stop herself, she says, “You could practice on me.”

What the hell did she say _that_ for? Stupid alcohol, tampering with her already-poor filter.

At least this time, she _does_ see the problem with that statement. Boy, does she ever.

It’s too late, though. It’s out there.

Erin is staring at her, dumbfounded. “What? You’re joking, right?”

_Yes_ , Jillian’s brain hisses, _tell her you’re joking._

“Nope,” she says instead.

“Jillian,” Erin says. “That doesn’t make any sense. You know that, right?”

“Uhhh…huh. Yep.”

“It’s not the same as like…practicing _kissing_.”

“Yep.”

“You aren’t…there are different…different _things_.”

“I don’t have a penis, you mean,” Jillian says bluntly.

Erin covers her face with her hand. “Oh my God.”

“Hear me out, though—”

Erin holds up her hand. “Stop. Do you _really_ think… _that_ would be a good idea?”

No, Jillian knows it would be the stupidest possible thing to do. The most idiotic thing that she’d probably ever do in her life.

“Just consider it, okay?” she says.

Then she chugs the rest of her drink and says she’s going to bed. She doesn’t wait for Erin to reply, just goes and gets ready and then curls up on her half of the Super Bed. It’s about twenty minutes later that Erin slips into the room, changes, and crawls into bed beside her.

She can practically _hear_ Erin thinking.

The next morning, Jillian finds out that she didn’t heed Abby’s warning, and her head pounds as she stumbles out of the bedroom to say goodbye to Abby for the summer. Abby looks rightfully irritated about the remnants of their night strewn around the living room that they didn’t clean up. Her parents look amused, though.

Jillian salutes. “Mornin’, Yateses.”

Erin appears a few moments later, mussed from sleep and looking equally as hungover.

Abby’s parents move her stuff down to their car while Jillian and Erin take turns hugging her goodbye.

Then she’s gone, and it’s just the two of them.

“Well, m’going back to sleep,” Jillian says with a yawn.

Erin follows her back into their room and into bed. Jillian stretches out, her eyelids already drooping again. A few seconds pass, and then Erin shifts closer, tentatively draping her arm over Jillian’s torso.

She’s glad she’s facing the other direction, because she can’t stop the smile that spreads on her face.

 

Erin would be lying if she said she wasn’t thinking about Jillian’s offer. She knows the proposition doesn’t make logical sense, not even remotely, but she’s still…a little curious. She thinks it would probably be like studying math when you actually have a physics exam. The skills might help you out a little, but it’s still the wrong subject.

So why is she considering it?

She tries to distract herself with work, but she can’t stop overthinking things.

It would be a bad idea. A really bad idea. They’re _friends_ , even if they do have a long history of the lines between friendship and _something_ _more_ being blurred.

She’s worried it might give Jillian the wrong idea.

She’s worried it might make things weird between them, even though the kissing never made things weird.

That was kissing, though, and this would be…a hell of a lot more.

But she considers it.

 

Nearly a month goes by. If Jillian didn’t see the looks Erin was giving her when she thought she couldn’t see, maybe she would think that Erin has forgotten about their conversation.

But she does see them, and she also knows that Erin’s been cuddlier than she has been in years, so…yeah, she knows Erin is still thinking about it.

One night, it’s early evening and they’re both off work and lying on the Super Bed on their separate halves, still fully dressed. Erin is reading, but after a while she sets her book down and rolls to face Jillian.

“Jillian?”

“Mmm?” Her heart beats faster as she rolls to face Erin too.

Erin looks unsure of herself for a second, then shifts forward until there’s only a few inches between their faces. Her eyes dip to Jillian’s lips for a second, then back up.

The corner of Jillian’s mouth twitches.

Slowly, Erin stretches her face the rest of the way to join their lips.

Jillian sighs happily into the kiss. It’s been so long. She forgot how much she loves kissing Erin.

They stay like that for a little while, Erin’s book forgotten on the bed beside them. Slowly, their kisses become deeper, slightly more urgent. This is new. Jillian’s stomach tingles. And a bit lower down, too.

Erin’s hand lingers on the bare skin above Jillian’s hip, where her shirt is riding up. Then a few minutes later, they creep _just_ under her shirt.

Jillian responds by slowly sweeping her hand up along Erin’s arm.

Erin’s hand inches up higher. Then higher. Then higher, until her fingertips graze right under the band of Jillian’s bra.

Jillian pulls away from Erin’s lips. “I could take my shirt off, if you want,” she whispers.

Erin pauses, then gives a tiny nod. She retracts her hand. Jillian sits up and pulls her t-shirt up and over her head. Then she carefully lays herself back down.

Erin’s eyes sweep over her torso and she bites her lip. A shadow of doubt flickers in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Jillian says.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” Erin murmurs.

“Don’t we kinda live for weird?” Jillian says, and waits to see if Erin remembers the reference.

Erin laughs lightly. “You do. I don’t.”

Jillian smiles. “See? You know me. It’s just me, Erin. Nothing to worry about.”

“It’s just you,” Erin repeats. She runs her finger along the printed brand name on the band of Jillian’s black and white sports bra. “Nothing’s going to explode this time, is it?”

“Only you?” Jillian says smoothly.

Erin bursts into a fit of girlish giggles. Jillian grins.

Erin sobers. “You sure you haven’t done this before?” Her voice sounds anxious again.

“Nope. I swear.”

Erin relaxes a little. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Let’s, ummm…okay. Yeah. Yes.”

“Yes to having sex?” Jillian says, just to make extra sure they’re on the same page.

Erin blushes. “ _Jillian_.” She breathes for a few seconds, chest rising and falling. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Erin says with more conviction.

“If you insist,” Jillian says. She shifts and gently pushes Erin’s shoulder to roll her onto her back, then throws her leg over so she’s half-straddling Erin’s legs.

“Wh—what are you doing?”

“Seducing you,” Jillian says, leaning down to kiss Erin’s adorable nose.

Erin snorts.

“That was a sexy noise,” Jillian says.

“Oh my God.” Erin sounds like she’s going to say something else, but Jillian silences her with a kiss, and that seems to distract her. She tangles her hand in Jillian’s hair and pulls her closer.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Jillian mumbles against her lips.

“Oh?”

“I can help with that.” Jillian swallows. “If you want.”

“Okay,” Erin breathes.

Without breaking their kiss, Jillian catches the edge of Erin’s shirt and tugs it up. Then they pull apart so Erin can squirm out of it. She tosses it aside, and it lands on top of her book.

For a few seconds, all Jillian can do is stare.

It’s not like she hasn’t seen Erin this exposed before, many times—in swim suits and even the sort of glimpses here and there that come from sharing a room for three years—but this is different. A little awestruck, she touches the microscopic bow in the centre of Erin’s purple bra.

“It’s so little,” she marvels.

“My chest?” Erin says, sounding a little hurt.

Jillian doubles over laughing, resting her forehead on Erin’s chest for a few seconds until she composes herself and lifts her head again. “The bow,” she says, and leans down to kiss Erin again. “Where did you find such a tiny little bow?”

“It came with the bra, Jillian,” Erin says dryly.

“How stupendous!”

“That’s it, I’m calling this off,” Erin says.

Jillian freezes.

Erin continues, “How can I sleep with someone who uses the word ‘stupendous’ in bed unironically?”

She smiles, and Jillian relaxes with a laugh.

She loves how _easy_ this is. There’s not a soul on the planet who she’s more comfortable with than Erin. If it were anyone else, maybe she’d be nervous, but she’s not.

They resume kissing for a while.

“Can I take your bra off?” Jillian asks.

“Only if you take yours off, too.”

“Deal.”

She sheds her sports bra quicker than Erin can blink.

“Jeez, eager much?”

“Now you,” Jillian says.

Erin props herself up on her elbows and reaches back to unclasp her bra, then pulls it off one arm at a time and tosses it aside.

Jillian’s throat constricts. “They’re very, uhh…nice.”

“A+ seducing, there.”

“Sorry, I’m just…” She tears her gaze away and back up to Erin’s face. She’s still propped up on her elbows. Her hair is a little messy already. “You’re very beautiful.”

“Thanks,” Erin whispers.

“All over.”

“All over?”

“Head to toe. Inside, outside,” Jillian clarifies. “Beautiful all over.”

“Oh.”

They start kissing again, and this time Jillian hesitantly runs one hand up Erin’s stomach, to her chest, where she gently squeezes one of her breasts.

“Is that…okay?”

Erin looks contemplative. “Uh…it’s not _bad_ , but…”

“Hm.” Jillian looks down. “Maybe I’m doing it wrong.”

Erin snorts again.

Jillian moves her hand. Tries something else.

“Oh,” Erin says. “That’s nice.”

“Cool.”

She keeps at that for a while.

After some time has passed, she says, “Do you want to proceed?”

Erin laughs. “Proceed? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know,” Jillian says. “Do the do? Bang it out? Hit the—”

“Oh my God, _stop talking._ ”

Jillian does.

For like two minutes. Then she starts again. She can’t help it.

“Really, though, do you want to?”

“ _Yes_ , Jillian. God. Just get on with it, already.”

“So demanding,” Jillian says. “Alrighty, then. Initiating launch sequence. 5—4—”

“Jillian, I swear to _God_ if you count all the way down to one, I’m going to get out of this bed and walk away.”

Jillian chuckles and sits back on her heels. “Better take your shorts off, then, and I’ll complete the countdown in my head.”

Erin rolls her eyes and unbuttons her shorts, then lifts her butt to wriggle them off. Jillian moves off her legs to let her get them all the way off and discard them, then returns to her spot.

Erin’s wearing blue underwear with white polka dots. It’s cute.

“You too,” Erin says.

It takes Jillian a second to realize she means she wants Jillian to take off her shorts as well, and that she hasn’t read Jillian’s mind and is calling her cute in return.

Jillian hastily unbuttons her cargo shorts and kicks them off, then chucks them on the floor. She looks down briefly to see what underwear _she’s_ wearing, to make sure they aren’t gross or anything (although what would she do, pause to go change into a better pair?), and she sees that it’s an old pair with a hole at the hip.

Ehh, it could be worse.

She looks back at Erin.

“So, uh…” Erin says. “I guess…”

“Yep.”

Jillian slides her hand down Erin’s stomach, pinches the waistband of her underwear in between her thumb and index finger.

“Can you, um, can you leave them on?”

“’Course.” Jillian flattens her palm against the juncture of Erin’s hip bone and thigh. “Do you still want—”

“Yes. Do…do you?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” More sure than Jillian’s ever been of anything.

“Okay, then.”

“Okay,” Jillian repeats.

Like she always does, Jillian learns as she goes. At first she fumbles, clumsy and awkward, but then she becomes slightly more sure of herself. She tries to do things that she knows feel good when she does them to herself, and watches Erin’s face, listens to the noises she makes, asks _is that okay?_ and _how’s that?_

She catalogues it all, every last moment, adjusting, learning, dropping some techniques that don’t work and trying new ones instead, memorizing what gets what reaction. It takes a long time, long enough that her wrist starts to ache and make her wish (for not the first time in her life) that she was ambidextrous, makes her wish that she hadn’t broken that same wrist years ago, because it hasn’t quite been the same since.

She keeps going, though. She keeps going because below her, Erin is breathing heavier and heavier, and her pupils are dilated, and her chest is flushed, and she keeps making noises that indicate she’s getting close to _something_.

Erin’s eyes flutter closed. “Oh!” she gasps suddenly, and her entire body twitches, her spine bowing off the bed as she grasps at the sheets, bunching them in her hands. “ _J—Jillian._ ”

In her head, Jillian makes a camera click. She doesn’t want to forget the look on Erin’s face, the sound of her name coming from Erin’s lips. Not ever.

Erin twitches one last time, then releases back down onto the mattress, eyes still closed. Jillian waits a few seconds, then slowly withdraws her hand from Erin’s underwear.

Erin’s eyes open, and they make eye contact as her chest rises and falls rapidly, trying to catch her breath. Jillian is a little out of breath herself.

“Wow,” Erin breathes. “That was…thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jillian says, and it comes out a little shyer than she intended. She climbs off of Erin and rolls off the bed, then goes to the bathroom to wash her hand. She examines herself in the mirror. Her own face is pink, eyes darkened. She rolls her wrist a few times, bending it forward and back.

When she returns, Erin is sitting up, her skinny arms wrapped around her chest modestly. The glow from the string lights above the bed makes her look ethereal. Jillian flops down on her side of the bed and rolls onto her back, folding her arms behind her head and staring up at the ceiling.

“Can I…um…” Erin starts.

Jillian turns her head to look at her. “Hmm?”

Erin shifts closer and tentatively splays her hand on Jillian’s stomach, a question in her eyes.

Oh. _Oh._ Jillian nods eagerly. “Yes. Yes, you can.”

(Erin makes her see stars. It’s incredible).

 

After, Erin stretches out on her stomach, muscles aching in a pleasant way, and thinks.

Jillian lies beside her and traces patterns on her bare back.

“What are you drawing?”

“Math.”

“Still?”

“Mhm. It’s important.”

Erin still wonders what kind of math could be so important that Jillian, who hates math, would need to do it on Erin’s back. She doesn’t ask, though. Maybe one day she will.

Things change between them. Of course they do. How could they not?

Things don’t change in the way Erin thought they might, though. She thought it would be awkward, but it’s not. Now they’re just…more intimate with each other. Softer, somehow. It reminds Erin of the way they used to be in first year. She’ll be cooking dinner and Jillian will come up behind her, kiss her neck sweetly, her shoulder. When they watch TV or movies, if Jillian’s arm isn’t around Erin, they’ll be holding hands on the couch between them. They fall asleep most nights cuddling despite the heat of summer.

And they sleep together again. _Sleep together_ sleep together. Many, many times.

That’s something else that Erin didn’t anticipate. She thought it would only happen the one time, but once it had happened once, it became pretty clear to both of them that they couldn’t _not_ do it again. And again.

Sometimes she lies awake at night and panics about what would happen if people knew what they were doing. Even Abby. Abby would probably be the worst of all.

When she’s at work some days, she’s convinced that people will somehow be able to _tell_. That they’ll see it on her, branded across her forehead or something. _I’M SLEEPING WITH MY (FEMALE) BEST FRIEND._

She tells herself that it’s okay because she’s straight. That’s always what she’s told herself. This _thing_ is still just a phase, an experiment, and one that she’ll grow out of.

Doesn’t mean they can’t enjoy it in the meantime.

 

For something that was supposed to blow up a long time ago, this thing with Erin is holding together surprisingly well, Jillian thinks.

She has a flash of a police officer lecturing her after the stink bomb incident.

_Maybe next time you’ll consider the consequences before you mess around with things you don’t understand._

She did. She considered the consequences and did it anyway. And nothing bad has happened.

Maybe she understands this after all.

The summer draws to a close, and there’s a mutual understanding that they can’t continue _this_ when Abby’s back. They share one last night together the day before Abby’s set to return, and Jillian clings to Erin extra tight. They drift off to sleep holding each other close.

Their last year of college is full of more academic hell and long hours at their respective labs. On more than one occasion, Jillian crashes at the lab. Energy drinks are her friend. She carries at least three cans in her patchwork bag at all times, and they slosh and clang together while she walks.

Her professors term her final projects ‘very impressive,’ and she aces all her exams.

“You have a bright future in nuclear engineering, Holtzmann,” one of her professors says. “Have you considered graduate school?”

Jillian’s considered it, sure. The thing is, she’s getting sick of school. She doesn’t apply anywhere. Erin and Abby have already applied to a handful of schools. She knows that Erin has applied to some schools out of state, and the thought makes her stomach churn.

She’s gotten too used to being with Erin. She wonders how she ever got through all those years apart. Now, if she doesn’t see Erin for a day or two because of conflicting schedules, her heart aches. She’s pretty sure she would go mad if they ended up in different cities, let alone different states.

Abby, at least, is talking about staying at the University of Michigan for grad school. She doesn’t want to give up her spot as captain of the curling team.

The three of them walk the stage and collect their diplomas with pride, and suddenly, just like that, they’re college graduates.

“Where did the time go?” Erin asks with tears in her eyes as Mark and Abby’s parents take photos of the three of them together.

Jillian grips Erin’s waist and blows the tassel on her mortarboard out of her face. “I have no idea,” she says.

She really doesn’t. She can feel time slipping through her fingers like sand. This phase of their life is ending, and it’s reminding her that time is a finite thing, and that it can run out at any moment.

She glances sideways at Erin, and she remembers another moment, two kids entwined in a goodbye on the outskirts of camp, not knowing when they’ll see each other again, biding their time before they have to traipse down a gravel pathway to whatever’s in store for them.

Why does this feel like that moment? Why does Jillian get this sense, deep in her gut, that her time with Erin is running out?

All she can do is hold onto Erin tightly and pray that she’s wrong.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have.............never written a sex scene before. Uh. Hopefully I didn't fail horribly? Let me know?


	8. I know that I ran you down (so you ran away with your heart)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for...sad.
> 
> Sorry in advance.

v.

Abby decides to stay in Ann Arbor for the rest of the summer, and Erin would be lying if she said she wasn’t a bit relieved. Her and Jillian have finally settled back into something a bit more normal, and the last thing they need is another summer alone.

Now that they’re graduates with free time again, they’ve started up with their ghost research. One day, they’re sitting around in their living room and Abby raises her head.

“Hey, guys…what if we compiled all this research?”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” Erin says.

“No, I mean into a book.”

“A book?” Erin repeats. Her stomach flip flops. A book that people would _read?_ This is the science fair all over again. She’s fascinated by their research, but she doesn’t want other people to _know_ that.

Jillian sits up in interest. “I like it.”

“We don’t know the first thing about writing a book,” Erin says.

“Step one: put words on page,” Jillian says. “Boom.”

“Come on, Erin,” Abby says. “We’re really onto something here. This stuff is revolutionary. This could be our major contribution to the world of physics!”

Or it could turn them into a laughingstock.

Erin doesn’t say that. She feels like it’s two against one at this point.

She never officially agrees, but they start writing anyway. They type up pages and pages and pages of research, theories, and thoughts. Slowly, Erin warms to the idea. Abby’s right—they’re on the cusp of something ground-breaking with this research.

The only question is whether or not the rest of the scientific community will agree.

 

In late July, the three of them take a week off work and drive to New York City. They’ve talked about a trip like this for years, and with their time together running out, they’ve decided to make it happen. They take Erin’s car, and alternate driving between the three of them.

Manhattan is incredible. It’s so much bigger than Ann Arbor, and there are so many _people_ , and it reeks of potential. And urine.

Jillian could see herself living here someday, maybe. The city has almost as much energy as she does.

They sightsee, eat, get lost, take photos, get lost again, and have _so_ much fun.

Her and Erin share one of the beds in their hotel room, and it’s much smaller than the Super Bed.

Erin doesn’t seem to mind.

After they’ve seen as much as humanly possible in their limited window of time, they drive down to New Jersey to check out Princeton, which is one of the places Erin applied for grad school.

Jillian can see the way Erin’s eyes light up as they wander around the campus, and uneasiness settles in her stomach. She desperately tries to find something wrong with it to point out, but comes up short.

“What are you thinking, E?” Abby says.

“I like it,” Erin says.

Jillian pretends like she doesn’t hear.

 

They spend the rest of the summer working on the book. Erin accepts her offer from Princeton, which means she’s officially moving to another state in September.

She’s going to miss Abby and Jillian, of course she is, but she’s excited to spread her wings.

They finish the full manuscript.

“Should we use pseudonyms?” Erin suggests. Maybe this can be a compromise. Her work will be out there, but nobody will know it’s her.

“Why would we do that?” Abby says.

“This research is going to change the world, Erin. Don’t you want your name on it?” Jillian says.

“I guess…” Erin says. So much for that.

They pitch the book to university and mainstream science publishers, but it’s clear that nobody will touch it with a ten-foot pole. So much for books on the paranormal being ‘hot’ right now. Does that only apply to fiction?

They get some academic reviews back, and they’re scathing. One even writes: _Made me a believer. After reading this manuscript I know what being dead feels like._

Then the summer comes to an end, and Erin has to move to New Jersey. Abby and Jillian are staying in Ann Arbor, in the same apartment. Abby’s starting grad school at U of M, and Jillian…well, Erin’s not exactly sure _what_ Jillian is planning on doing, but she’s staying in Ann Arbor anyway.

Erin packs up all her stuff into her car, sells her furniture, then it’s time to say goodbye.

Abby hugs her, long and tight. “I’m gonna miss you. So much.”

“I’m going to miss you too,” Erin says, her chest tight.

Abby finally releases her, and then Erin turns to Jillian.

She’s standing there, wringing her hands, looking like this is the worst day of her life. For a second, all Erin can do is stare at her and try to hold back tears.

Jillian’s having no such luck, judging by her wet cheeks.

“Umm, I’m gonna take this last box down to your car,” Abby says. “Be back in a minute.”

It’s not subtle at all, but Erin appreciates it. The door to the apartment closes.

Erin steps closer, and throws her arms around Jillian, gripping her so tightly she might leave bruises. Jillian clings back and buries her face into Erin’s shoulder. They don’t say anything.

Jillian lifts her head, then stretches up to kiss Erin.

Even though it’s been a long time, and even though Erin knows they shouldn’t, she kisses her back instantly, holding her closer. Jillian kisses her desperately, with purpose, like she knows this is the last time this is going to happen.

Erin’s hands move to grip the sides of Jillian’s face despite herself.

She breaks the kiss, finally, and leans her forehead against Jillian’s. She thumbs away the wetness on her cheeks.

“Jillian, I—”

“No,” Jillian says. “No, don’t…don’t say anything.”

Erin understands. She kisses her again.

“You’ll call, right?” Jillian’s voice wavers.

Erin drops her hands and takes hold of Jillian’s, giving them a squeeze. “Every day.”

Jillian gives the smallest flicker of a smile. “That’s a lot.”

“Don’t care,” Erin breathes.

She leans down to press one last long, sweet kiss to Jillian’s lips, and then she steps back, releasing her.

They don’t say anything.

Abby comes back in a minute later and stands solemnly by the door. Erin grabs her purse and slings it over her shoulder.

She takes one last look around at her home for the last three years, takes one last look at her best friends.

“Bye, guys,” she says, her voice shaky.

Then she leaves.

And as she walks down the hallway to the elevator, she feels like she’s leaving some part of herself behind.

 

At first, Erin does call every day.

Then every few days.

Then once a week.

Then once every few weeks.

Jillian knows that she must be busy with grad school. Every time they talk on the phone, Erin sounds more tired, more distant.

The three of them spend time discussing the next step for the book, after all the rejections they’ve faced so far. Every time they talk about it, Erin pushes back, fights them about it, says that maybe they should just drop the whole thing.

Abby thinks they’d be insane to not go ahead with it after all that they’ve put into it.

Jillian falls somewhere in the middle. She can see Erin’s reasons for not wanting the research out there, but she also knows their theories are _important_. They really could change the world of science as they know it.

Every time they talk about it, Erin fights less, has more defeat in her voice.

Jillian almost wants to tell Abby to back off a bit, because she can be _very_ intense when she’s determined and passionate about something and Erin’s never been great about standing up for herself, but she doesn’t say anything.

So maybe it’s her fault, what happens.

They agree to self-publish the book using a print-on-demand site. They pool their resources, and after all the costs involved (editing, layout, etc.), they have enough money to buy a printed copy for each of them.

The first time Jillian holds hers, she runs her fingers along the words on the cover.

_Ghosts from Our Past: Both Literally and Figuratively: A Study of the Paranormal_

_By Erin Gilbert, Jillian Holtzmann, and Abigail L. Yates_

Abby had been so adamant about putting her full name. She thought it looked more official.

At the last second, Jillian had almost changed _Jillian Holtzmann_ to _J. Holtzmann_ , because she’s been feeling less and less connected to the name Jillian nowadays. In the end, though, she kept it there, because if Erin was going to put her full name on the cover, so was she.

They mail Erin her copy, and Erin doesn’t even call to confirm that she got it, which is a little rude considering how much it cost them to ship the 400+ page brick.

Again, Jillian assumes it’s because she’s busy with school.

Jillian thinks about going back to school herself. Abby convinces her to apply. She sends in applications for half a dozen schools, including ones in New York. Closer to where Erin is.

In November, Abby manages to land them an interview spot on _Wolverine Scene_ , U of M’s campus talk show, to promote the book. They talk to Erin, and she confirms that she’s planning on flying back to see them over Thanksgiving anyway, so she’ll be able to join them for the interview. There’s something in her voice that Jillian can’t quite place.

She circles the day of the interview, the day Erin flies in, in thick red Sharpie on the calendar taped to their fridge. She counts down the days until she’ll see Erin again.

 

Erin squeezes herself into the tiny office of her thesis advisor, Professor Hans Anschutz. There’s no chair, so she has to stand.

He shoves the thick copy of _Ghosts from Our Past_ across the desk with distaste on his face.

“You _cannot_ let this get out.” He taps the cover. “If you publish this, you are never going to be hired by a reputable institution. You have dreams of doing your doctoral work at CERN…you really think they will hire you after _this?_ ”

She winces. She does want to get into CERN. She’s been studying Swiss in her free time.

“What on earth were you thinking?”

What _was_ she thinking? She should’ve put her foot down before they ever started writing this stupid book.

“It’s been…an interest of mine since I was a kid,” Erin says, swallowing.

“Interests are not always to be shared,” he says. “The subject matter of this aside, your conclusions are shaky at best.” He proceeds to tear apart the work, criticizing their theories on ghost polarities, and even goes so far as to say that based on her math, they couldn’t even capture a ghost without creating an instantaneous black hole and risking the end of the world.

Which admittedly is sort of true.

At the very least, at least he understood the theories and her math, which nobody else has ever managed before.

“I’m supposed to fly back to Michigan today and appear in a TV interview,” she says.

“Absolutely not,” he says. “You said there are only three copies of the book. You still have a chance to pull the plug on this whole disaster before it ruins your career. You’ve worked too hard, and you have a bright future ahead of you. To flush it down the toilet before it even begins for this _nonsense_ would be the stupidest decision of your life.”

She stares at the floor.

“And you might as well drop out of grad school, because everyone in the department will think you’re crazy and treat you as such. You’ll never be able to succeed here. But if you stop this, right now, nobody will have to know this rubbish exists. Do you understand?”

Oh, she understands alright.

She thinks back to the years and years of torment, of people calling her crazy, of people calling her Ghost Girl, and she knows he’s right. She’d have to _actually_ be crazy to go through with this.

There’s only one solution: denial.

Ghosts aren’t real, she never saw one, and she never wrote a book on them. Period.

She can be normal. She can leave all that behind and become a reputable physicist, which is all she really wants.

But how is she going to tell Abby and Jillian? How could she possibly tell them? How could she fly all the way home just to say to their faces that she doesn’t want any part of this, that she won’t let them publish the book?

“Thank you, Professor Anschutz,” she says, and she takes the book and walks out the door.

 

“With me today are authors Abigail L. Yates and Jillian Holtzmann. They, alongside their co-author Erin Gilbert, wrote a book called _Ghosts from Our Past_.”

Jillian shifts in her seat, her stomach churning.

Erin’s not here.

She’s not here, and Jillian’s stomach is churning and she can barely breathe because what if something happened? What if there was an accident?

It’s the only explanation for why Erin isn’t here. She would _be_ here.

Abby’s holding herself together better on the outside than Jillian is.

“This is a big, thick book you’ve written here, ladies.”

“It is,” Abby agrees. “That’s a lot of research we’ve done.” She glances at Jillian, then at the empty seat on the other side of her. “And I’m sure Erin is…”

“Where is Erin?” their interviewer prods.

“Uh, I’m sure…I’m sure there’s going to be a great story.”

Or something’s wrong. Or something’s very, very wrong and they’re never going to see Erin again.

Jillian looks right at the camera and hopes, prays, that Erin’s flight got cancelled or something, and she’s watching on the other end, alive and safe.

“She may even be doing research right now,” Abby adds, her voice pained.

“Maybe she’s a ghost,” the interviewer says. “Maybe she’s flying around your head.” He spins his finger in the air.

“That’s not funny,” Jillian barks.

“All I’m saying is that maybe if even your _co-author_ knows better than to promote this, maybe you should rethink—”

“Erin stands by our research just as much as we do,” Abby snaps.

“Right, of course, your ‘research.’” He rolls his eyes and puts the word in air quotes.

“Listen here,” Abby says, standing from her chair like she’s ready to fight him. Jillian grabs her arm and pulls her down.

Behind the dark abyss that is the camera lens, the camera operator signals that they’re going to commercial break.

“When we come back, we’ll discuss whether or not ghosts are real. It should be fun. Stay tuned to _Wolverine Scene_.”

As soon as the light above the camera turns off, Abby’s up and out of her chair. “Did you bring us here to humiliate us?”

“No, you’re just doing it to yourself, actually,” the interviewer says.

“Come on, Abby, this isn’t worth it. We need to find Erin,” Jillian says anxiously.

“You can’t leave. There’s still half the show left!”

“Tough,” Abby says, flipping him off and grabbing the copy of the book.

Back at their apartment, they find no messages from Erin on the machine. Nothing.

They call her and it goes to voicemail. They call her again. And again.

“Something happened, Abby, something happened.” She says it over and over.

“Enough. Don’t jump to conclusions. Maybe her flight got delayed and she’s on a plane as we speak.”

Jillian is an anxious wreck all night, pacing back and forth in their apartment. They keep the news on all night. There are no plane crashes, no reported car accidents in Ann Arbor.

Abby spends some time on the phone trying to find out if Erin made it on her flight, and eventually finds out that no, she never checked in. They even phone Princeton’s physics department and get put on hold for upwards of half an hour until the woman comes back on and says that Erin’s thesis advisor met with her a few hours before her flight.

As Jillian tries (and fails) to sleep, she tosses and turns and a horrible idea starts to take root and grow in her head. It’s planted out of the knowledge that Erin had apparently looked ‘a bit upset’ as she left her advisor’s office, and it’s nourished by the uneasy feeling she’s been getting for months about Erin’s distantness.

She eventually must fall asleep, because she wakes up in panic, drenched in sweat, heart racing from a dream that she hasn’t had in four and a half years. Only this time it’s not her mom’s body slumped over the wheel, it’s Erin’s.

Knowing she won’t be able to sleep again, she dresses quietly and slips out the door of the apartment. She walks and walks and walks until she has no concept of how long it’s been or how far she’s gone. The sun is starting to rise.

That idea in her mind keeps growing, and at this point her instincts are pointing more towards it than the _something bad_ route.

She passes a payphone, then doubles back instinctively. She digs in the pockets of her pants until she finds the right change and loads it in, then dials the number that she knows by heart.

It rings once. Twice. Three times.

“Hello?”

Jillian’s heart stops. It’s her. It’s Erin’s voice. She opens and closes her mouth, realizing at once what this means.

“Hello?” Erin says again.

Jillian hangs up.

She bolts out of the payphone and begins the long walk back to the apartment. When she gets there, she collapses onto the couch and cries. That’s where Abby finds her when she emerges from her room shortly after. She rushes to sit beside Jillian, grabbing for her hand.

“What is it? Did you find out something? Is she okay?”

“She’s okay,” Jillian chokes out.

Abby lets out a long breath.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” Jillian says. “It means she didn’t come on purpose.”

“No. No, I don’t believe that.”

“Abby, she’s screening our calls. She didn’t come.” Her voice breaks on the last word.

“No,” Abby says again. “There’s an explanation.”

“Then why hasn’t she called?”

“I—I don’t know.”

Jillian closes her eyes. “We’re never going to see her again.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.” She knows. She knows.

She knows.

 

Erin watches the interview.

She sees Jillian’s face, so pained, so scared, and she feels so physically ill that she throws up in the sink.

She knows she should call. Explain. Let them know she’s alright.

She doesn’t.

 

Jillian doesn’t leave the apartment much. She cuts down on her work hours so she’s only working a few days a week. When she _is_ at work, she messes up orders and makes the wrong drinks and more than one customer complains. Her boss puts her on cleaning duty.

On the days she doesn’t work, she curls up in a bed that has one half of it missing, and she stares at the wall. That’s it. No X-Files marathons, no art projects. Nothing.

One day she doesn’t go to work when she’s supposed to. She doesn’t forget, she just doesn’t go.

She gets a call from her boss saying if she doesn’t call back with a good excuse, she’s fired.

She doesn’t call back.

The only time she leaves the apartment is after she wakes up around 3:00am every night from the same nightmare. She can never fall back asleep, so she goes on more walks. She walks, and walks, and walks. She’ll be gone for hours and hours, walking until her legs are numb and her feet are blistered. She usually doesn’t return until after Abby’s already left for class.

She eats whatever can be microwaved in less than five minutes. There’s a seemingly never-ending supply of frozen meals in the freezer, and she knows that Abby must be stocking them for her.

She tucks a few twenties in Abby’s wallet after she’s gone to sleep to pay her back for them.

Abby’s upset too. Really upset. But she doesn’t let it show. She puts on a brave face and goes to class, cooks, continues with her life.

Jillian hears her crying through the wall at night sometimes, though.

One night, Jillian wakes up with a scream dying in her throat like she does every night. She quietly gets out of bed and changes into the old sweats and black hoodie that are crumpled on her floor, then slips out of her bedroom.

“Going out?”

Jillian nearly has a heart attack, clutching her chest and jumping. “Abby? Jesus, what are you doing?”

Abby’s sitting in the mostly-dark living room on the couch.

“Come here,” Abby says, patting the couch beside her.

Jillian hesitates, then goes and sits. “Did I wake you up?”

“No,” Abby mutters.

Between her fingers, Abby catches a small, matted ringlet of blonde hair that’s escaped from Jillian’s bun. She hasn’t washed her hair in over a week. Or is it two?

Abby examines it for a moment, then drops it. “This isn’t healthy.”

“It’s just hair.”

“Not that, Jillian, all of this. _You_.”

_At some point, you need to join the world of the living again._

“I’m fine,” Jillian says.

“Bullshit,” Abby says. “This isn’t okay. You need to get your act together. She’s not dead.”

Jillian winces.

“You don’t understand,” she says quietly.

“Like hell I don’t. You may have known her for longer, but she was my best friend, too, alright? Don’t tell me I don’t understand.”

She doesn’t, though. And Jillian can’t even tell her why.

She stares at the floor. Her eyes are filled with tears. They do that a lot lately. She wipes them with the sleeve of her hoodie.

“Tomorrow, we’re getting you on the right track again, okay?” Abby says. “You’re going to shower, we’re going to clean up the apartment, cook at least two real meals, and you’re going to apply for a new job. Don’t try to argue with me. You’re doing it even if I have to physically move you myself.”

“Abby…”

“Nope. Don’t want to hear it. Now go on your walk. I’m going to bed.”

With that, Abby gets up from the couch. Jillian sits there for a few minutes after her bedroom door has shut, then she walks.

When she gets back, Abby is already awake and frying eggs and bacon.

“Go shower,” she says.

Jillian obliges. She has to shampoo her hair twice before it feels clean. Her soap bar actually looks dirty when she’s done scrubbing down her skin.

She dresses in clothes from the very back of her dresser that are still completely clean, and she joins Abby at the table.

“Where do you want to work?” Abby asks.

Jillian wolfs down another strip of bacon, shrugs.

“Another café?” Abby prompts.

Jillian shrugs again. It’s easy, sure, and she used to like it…now she doesn’t know.

“Maybe a bar?” Abby suggests. “I could see you being a good bartender.”

Jillian considers that. Maybe. At the very least, it would be later hours and it wouldn’t mess with her morning walks.

“Okay,” she says.

They spend the rest of the day cleaning and doing laundry. Jillian forgot what her floor looked like. They make sandwiches for lunch, and chicken for dinner. They work on Jillian’s resume.

Jillian, exhausted by the day she’s had, manages to actually fall asleep. She doesn’t wake up from _the dream_ until the sun has already climbed into the sky. Disoriented, it takes her a good twenty minutes before she gets ready and leaves for her walk.

Later that day, she dresses in her nicest pair of slacks, a button-up shirt that only has one stain on it (in the left armpit, so nobody will notice), and a vest that she actually does up for once. She styles her hair in a vaguely professional way and takes a stack of resumes out. A few bars take her resume, look her up and down, and say that they’ll give it a look in a way that makes it pretty clear they won’t actually.

She’s about to call it quits when she enters through the door of a bar on the outskirts of town. It’s quiet inside, and dark. She likes it immediately.

She gives her resume to the bartender, who turns out to be the owner as well. He’s a large guy, bulky, with a round, cheery face and a tattoo of a ladybug on his neck. His name is Big Ben, he says.

He takes her resume and looks it over.

“You don’t have bartending experience,” he says.

“No.” She fiddles with a button on her vest. “I don’t.”

“Huh,” he says, and scratches his chin. “Do you have references?”

“No,” she admits. She assumed she wouldn’t be able to get a reference from her last boss after she up and abandoned them, and she doesn’t know if her boss back in Battle Creek is still there and didn’t bother finding out.

“So tell me why I should hire you, then, Jillian Holtzmann?”

“Just Holtzmann,” she corrects, then wonders why. “Because I’m a hard worker, and I have a photographic memory, so I only need to be shown something once to remember it forever. I learn very fast. Also, customers love me. If you take a chance on me, I won’t let you down. I’ll spend every day proving that it was the right move.”

He stares her down for a solid thirty seconds. She pulls at the collar of her shirt.

“Okay, just Holtzmann. Welcome aboard.”

“Wait, seriously?” she says.

Big Ben extends a hand. “Let’s see just how good that memory of yours is.”

“It’s good,” she says as she pumps his hand. “It’s really good.”

 

“I can’t be your thesis advisor anymore, Erin.”

Erin lifts her gaze from the floor, stares blankly at Professor Anschutz.

“Your attendance has been spotty, and even when you’re here, you don’t seem present. Your work is suffering from whatever is going on in your personal life. I’m sorry, Erin, but you’ll have to find another professor willing to take you on.”

Erin looks back at the floor.

 

Jillian has a knack for bartending. Big Ben takes her under his wing, shows her how to make everything, and as promised she doesn’t need to be shown twice. She replicates the drinks perfectly on her first attempt.

She charms the regular patrons, who find her quirky, and she manages to rake in tips from almost everyone. She’s not exactly a people person, but she knows how to pretend like she is. She talks to the patrons, listens to the stories that they tell her, laughs, watches them convince themselves that they need another drink, makes it for them. Rinse and repeat.

It’s easy, and she likes it even more than she liked being a barista.

She knows it’s good for her, interacting with so many people again. It keeps her out of her own head. Well, it keeps her _less_ in her own head. Abby seems pleased.

They don’t talk about _her_. Not anymore. It doesn’t do either of them any good.

One day in January, Jillian stays behind after a particularly difficult shift (a patron yelled at her for a while before he was dragged out to the street) and she lets Big Ben pour her a shot of tequila. And another.

By the time she gets back to the apartment, her brain is fuzzy, and the rude patron is long gone from her mind.

She’s thinking about Erin. Of course she is.

Abby’s still up, watching TV. Jillian kicks off her boots and curls up on the couch beside her. Abby doesn’t say anything. They watch TV. Jillian’s brain is still buzzing.

“Hey, Abby?”

Abby doesn’t take her eyes off the TV. “Mmm?”

“Can I tell you something?”

Abby glances at her, mutes the TV. “Sure. What’s up?”

Jillian puffs her cheeks, audibly blows out, picks at a loose thread on the couch. “I’m gay.”

Abby makes a noise of agreement.

A few seconds pass.

“Wait, is that it? That’s what you wanted to tell me?” Abby says.

“Did…did you know already?”

“I…figured. I don’t know how to tell you this, but you act preeetty gay, Jillian.”

Jillian snorts. She climbs off the couch and grabs two beers from the fridge, cracking the tops and offering one to Abby when she gets back. She settles back onto the couch.

They watch the muted TV show. The glow from the screen is the only light in the room.

“That’s not really what you were trying to tell me,” Abby says after a while.

Jillian hums.

“Erin,” Abby says quietly. Not a question.

Jillian takes a sip from her beer, tries to regulate her breathing. She nods, just a shallow dip of her head.

Abby sighs.

“You knew,” Jillian realizes.

There’s a long pause before Abby speaks. “I’m not dumb, Jillian. You guys had something special. I didn’t always understand it, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t see it.”

Jillian’s throat is tight. Tears prick at her eyes at the past tense. _Had_ something special. _Had, had, had_.

That’s all gone now.

Abby sets her beer on the coffee table and loops an arm around her. “It’ll be okay.”

“I loved her, Abby,” Jillian says quietly, her voice breaking.

She puts her beer on the coffee table too and lets Abby pull her into a tight embrace. They don’t say anything. She hears a sniffle, and knows that Abby is crying, too.

“I know,” Abby says. “I know you did.”

 

Erin rolls over in bed, her cheek touching her already-damp pillowcase.

Her breath comes in ragged gasps like it always does. It hurts to breathe.

The clock on her bedside table reads _4:48am_.

The string lights above her bed flicker, dim, go out.

 

Jillian gets accepted to all the grad schools she applied at. She lays out all the acceptance letters on their kitchen table. Abby stands over her shoulder.

“What do you think?” she asks.

Jillian shrugs. She closes her eyes, swings her hand around, and randomly drops her palm flat on one of them. She simultaneously prays that it’s both a school in New York and not a school in New York.

When she opens her eyes, her hand is resting just over the MIT logo.

“Hmm.”

“How do you feel about MIT?” Abby says.

“I feel…I feel like I’m moving to Massachusetts.”

Abby is quiet for a moment. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Jillian says, but she knows she has to go. Everything in this city, in this _state_ , reminds her of Erin. She needs to start over, even if that means saying goodbye to Abby.

She tries not to think about it, though. It’s months and months away.

She keeps working at the bar. She mixes up drinks that she invents, and Big Ben adds a whole slew of them to their feature drinks list. She gives them all weird names except for her favourite, the one that people ask for most often. She calls that one the Holtzmann, and it goes at the top of the list.

One day in April, she’s rinsing a blender when a tall girl takes a seat at the bar. She is, in a word, sturdy. Broad shoulders, defined muscles. Her brown hair is swept to the side of her neck in an updo that seems far too elegant to match the rest of her, including her faded jeans and white t-shirt.

Jillian sets the blender down and leans on the bar with a smile. This is Holtzmann, now. Holtzmann is good at this. Smiling gets people to buy more drinks, she finds. _Infectious_ , Big Ben once called her smile. _Charismatic._

“What can I getcha?”

The girl smiles back and tilts her head. “What would you recommend?”

Jillian-as-Holtzmann moves her glasses to perch on the top of her head. “Depends on what you’re looking for.”

“Something strong,” the girl says, then rakes her gaze up and down Holtzmann’s body, “but unassuming.”

“Ah. I have just the thing,” Holtzmann says, and picks herself up off the counter. When she turns her back on the girl to mix the drink, she tries to slow her racing heart. Is the girl hitting on her? That’s new. She’s had guys hit on her in this job, lots of times, but never a woman.

She doesn’t even look that nice today. She’s wearing a hodgepodge of thrifted garments, a silk scarf hanging down the front of her neck like a tie. She’s toeing the line between scruffy and workplace-casual. Is this appealing?

She pours the yellow-orange drink into a glass and turns back, sliding it across the bar.

The girl picks it up and takes a sip right away, her eyes lighting up.

“Damn, that’s good,” she says. Her nose crinkles cutely. “Is this rimmed with crushed Pop Rocks?”

“You better believe it,” Holtzmann says, leaning her elbows back down on the bar and watching the girl, amused.

“I love a good explosion in my mouth,” the girl says, then slowly and deliberately runs her tongue along the rim without breaking eye contact.

A jolt goes through her, low in her belly, and Holtzmann makes some sort of noise. Embarrassed, she straightens up and turns her back again to clean up the mess. And maybe her mind.

Then she takes a deep breath and turns back around.

The girl is smirking a bit around the edge of her glass. She takes a long swig, then sets it down.

“You’re gonna wanna go easy on that one,” Holtzmann says. “It packs a punch.”

“What’d you say this thing is called?”

“The Holtzmann.”

“The Holtzmann,” the girl repeats. “The Holtzmann. Nice. I like it.”

She smiles. “Good.”

“I’m Noelle,” the girl says, taking another sip from her drink.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” Holtzmann says. Why’d she say _that?_

Noelle grins. “What do they call you?”

“Holtzmann,” she says, and winks. Holtzmann winks a lot. Jillian doesn’t know why.

“ _The_ Holtzmann?”

She chuckles. “The very same.”

“Well, I didn’t know I was in the presence of a genius mixologist. I’m not worthy.” Noelle bows her head.

“Few are,” Holtzmann says with a wide grin.

Another patron sits at the bar, a regular named Hank. She excuses herself and goes to fix up his drink. When she gets back, Noelle is tipping the last of her drink into her mouth. She sets the empty glass down and eyes Holtzmann.

“What time are you off tonight, Holtzmann?”

She draws the ‘o’ in Holtzmann out, singsongs it.

Jillian checks her watch. “About an hour.”

Noelle pulls a twenty from her purse and sets it down on the bar. “Interesting,” she says, and then she gets off her stool and walks away.

Jillian is distracted for the rest of her shift, even mixes a drink wrong and has to do it over. When the bar starts closing, she wipes down the counter, stacks glasses in a hurry.

She throws on her coat and salutes to Big Ben, then slips outside into the night air.

Noelle is leaning against the front of the building, arms crossed.

Jillian can be Holtzmann for a while longer. She shoves her hands into the pockets of her pants and strides over. She’s never done this before. What’s a good pick-up line?

“Come here often?” she blurts, and it’s not cool or sexy at all.

Noelle lights up anyway. “If it isn’t _the_ Holtzmann.”

Holtzmann bows. “The one and only.”

Noelle laughs. Holtzmann studies her in the orange light from the flickering streetlight in the parking lot. She’s pretty, undoubtedly so.

_Erin’s prettier_ , a small voice in the back of Jillian’s head says. _Shut it_ , she wants to say back.

Noelle peels herself off the wall and steps closer. “Has anyone ever told you, Holtzmann, that you are very hot?”

She takes the lapel of Jillian’s coat in her hand. Jillian swallows. Or Holtzmann. One of them. Both of them.

“Don’t think so, no,” she manages to get out.

Noelle laughs like she thinks Holtzmann is joking, but she isn’t.

Nobody has ever called her that. Not hot, not attractive, not beautiful, not anything. Jillian used to tell Erin how beautiful she was all the time, especially when they were—

“Well, you are,” Noelle says. “Very, very hot.” She dips her gaze down to Holtzmann’s lips, lingers there.

Jillian is out of her element. She can be Holtzmann, be bold and flirtatious, but only when she’s behind the bar. It’s like her stage.

Now she’s been caught out on the street by a fan who expects her to still be in character.

Noelle leans in, hovers for a moment, then kisses her.

Holtzmann kisses her back automatically.

Noelle pulls her in closer by her coat, kisses her hard in a way that makes it very evident that she knows what she’s doing. Jillian idly wonders how old she is. She still tastes like the Holtzmann, sour and sweet at the same time. Her touch is firm, eager, experienced.

Jillian realizes something, then.

She realizes what it feels like to be kissed by someone who’s interested in her.

She pulls back and pretends that it’s to catch her breath. Her heart is thudding in her chest. Something in her stomach twists, burns.

Erin never liked her back. Of course she didn’t. How could she have left if she did?

Every kiss, every touch…none of it meant anything. Jillian was just a pair of lips, a pair of hands to make her feel good.

She’d been so delusional to think otherwise.

“Can I give you a lift?” Noelle offers.

Holtzmann says yes.

As they drive, Jillian drums her fingers on her knee and watches the lights go by. She directs Noelle to her street. They park just down from the apartment building.

Noelle leans across the seat and kisses her again. Her lips, her neck, the spot under her ear.

“Can I come in?” Noelle murmurs.

“I have a roommate,” Holtzmann murmurs back.

“Back seat?”

Jillian hesitates. A second later, Holtzmann nods.

They crawl into the back seat and continue making out.

_But Erin_ , the voice in Jillian’s head says. _Fuck off,_ she says back.

One of Noelle’s hands tries to undo Jillian’s belt. Either Jillian or Holtzmann helps her. At this point, she can’t tell the difference.

If Noelle notices her ratty underwear, she doesn’t comment on it. She goes down on her, something her and Erin never did.

_Stop thinking about Erin_ , she yells at herself.

A seatbelt buckle digs into her lower back. She grips the headrest above her and stares out the sunroof of the car at the stars above. A blinking plane goes past.

She throws her head back when she comes, smashes it hard against the window, swears loudly.

Noelle sits up and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “That was fun,” she says with an easy grin.

Something in her voice makes it clear that it’s time for Holtzmann to get out of the car now. She pulls up her underwear and pants, hastily does up her belt, and opens the door. Once outside, she bends down and looks at Noelle for a few seconds. What does she say?

“Thank you for the ride,” she says.

“Thank you for the drink,” Noelle says.

Jillian shuts the door.

She doesn’t look back as she walks up the street to her apartment. When she gets inside, she sees the clock on the stove that says it’s past two in the morning.

She knows it might wake up Abby, but she has a shower. She feels dirty.

Some part of her still feels like she just cheated on Erin.

No. No, she needs to stop thinking like that. Erin is gone. Erin never loved her, never even liked her. Erin was never hers to cheat on.

After her shower, she sits on top of her bed, holding her copy of _Ghosts from Our Past_ heavy in her hands. She runs her finger along Erin’s name, nestled beside her own name. She hates the way they look side by side.

After a while, she feels for the familiar stack of papers under her pillow, looks at them for a long time, too.

She tucks the comic inside the front cover, then digs in her desk until she finds the vintage lighter that she bought at a garage sale once, just because she thought it looked cool. She tucks the thick book under her arm and makes her way silently out of the apartment with the lighter gripped in her hand.

In the alley behind their apartment building, she carefully sets the book on the concrete. She stares at it for a few more minutes, then she bends and flicks the lighter. It takes a few tries, but then the flame catches.

She pauses for one more moment, then holds it to the cover.

It goes up right away. Flames lick along the spine, spreading until there’s a small inferno. She sits on the filthy ground and watches it. She watches Erin’s name blacken, then her own.

She watches it burn, and she watches the comic sheathed inside burn with it.

She stays there until there’s nothing left but a pile of charred ashes and a bad smell in the air.

Then she stands, and she goes for a walk and leaves the ashes behind. She walks longer than she has for a while and ends up at a drugstore. She wanders through the aisles, looking for something, but she’s not sure what.

Finally, she grabs a box off the shelf.

She walks the long trek home with it swinging in a bag off her wrist. When she gets back, Abby is still asleep behind her closed door. She goes into the bathroom, takes the box out of the bag, opens it.

Abby comes in a little while later, wrinkling her nose at the smell.

“Are you…bleaching your hair? At 7:30 in the morning?”

“Yup.”

“Why?”

“Felt like it.”

“Okaaay? Weirdo. Don’t leave it in too long and burn off your scalp.”

She taps her green watch to show Abby that she’s keeping time. Abby shrugs and goes to leave the bathroom.

“Hey, Abby?”

Abby stops. Turns back. “Yeah?”

“Can you call me Holtzmann from now on?”

Abby blinks. “Uh…sure?”

“Thanks.”

“Any reason in particular for the sudden name change?”

“Felt like it,” she repeats.

“Alright…Holtzmann.” Abby fans the air around her nose. “Seriously, don’t leave that bleach in for too long.”

“I won’t.”

Abby takes one last strange look at her, then leaves.

She turns back to her reflection, runs her plastic-gloved fingers through her rapidly lightening hair.

She’s Holtzmann now.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Yesterday I [graduated from university](http://jillbert.tumblr.com/post/161803576359/i-did-the-heckin-thing-now-i-can-say-im-beyond) with a Bachelor of Arts in Writing (with distinction) and I wanted to post this chapter today in celebration. I wish it was a happier chapter, but at the same time, the last series of scenes with the transformation into Holtzmann is one of my favourite things I've ever written, so it seems fitting.
> 
> Anyway, rest assured knowing that now I'm hella qualified to write fic for you guys. Putting that BA to good use, I am. ;)


	9. I had a fear of forgiveness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I just spent all day leaving the city that I've been living in for the past four years and moving back in with my family (god help me). It has been a Day, so I'm posting this chapter for selfish reasons. Enjoy! Lemme know what you think, and read the VERY IMPORTANT end notes for further instructions on how to get the next half of this chapter. :)

vi.

Holtzmann moves to Massachusetts.

She rents the tiniest studio apartment ever and doesn’t bother getting real furniture because it’s just her. She buys a mattress and puts it right on the floor, and that’s all she needs.

She only moved with a suitcase and a shipped box. She sold the rest of her stuff.

At the airport, her and Abby had clutched each other for ten straight minutes and Holtzmann didn’t really stop crying until well into her flight.

Every day since, she’s phoned Abby and they’ve talked for at least an hour.

She starts at MIT, which is a whole new world of cool things to dick around with. She gets to work in a lab that’s run by a woman, Dr. Rebecca Gorin. She has brown hair like a tornado, wears bolo ties under her lab coat, and Holtzmann has never seen her smile (although she keeps a constant eye out, just in case she does one day). She runs a no-nonsense lab, and it’s clear from the first week that she doesn’t like Holtzmann and isn’t going to tolerate her shenanigans. She calls her Jillian. She’s the only one who does, now, besides Mark and Luke. She’s the only one who can make her first name sound more threatening than her last.

Holtzmann loves her instantly.

She follows Dr. Gorin around the lab like a puppy. The rest of the grad students are too scared to show their work to her, but Holtzmann is more than eager. Dr. Gorin never has praise, only criticism, and Holtzmann soaks in every single word of it. Dr. Gorin is brilliant. Quite possibly the smartest person Holtzmann has ever met. She feels blessed to even be in the same room as her, let alone working under her.

Dr. Gorin is very adamant about personal lives remaining outside of the lab, and Holtzmann appreciates that, too.

She doesn’t think about Erin as much anymore, now that she’s not living in Michigan and surrounded by memories.

She also doesn’t _let_ herself think about Erin. She works hard, pouring everything she’s got into her projects at the lab. She stays long hours, longer than the rest of the grad students, and pushes the boundaries of what’s possible.

One day, she’s just finished showing off her latest project to Dr. Gorin, and she’s waiting expectantly for the barrage of critiques.

Those come, of course, a lot of them—mostly chastising Holtzmann for her lack of safety measures—but then Dr. Gorin crosses her arms.

“Good work,” she says. It’s clipped, forced-sounding, but she says it.

Holtzmann blinks at her. She wants to say something, to _thank her_ , but Dr. Gorin is already striding off to the next work station.

Holtzmann looks around to see if anyone heard that. Nobody seems to be paying any attention.

Did she just hallucinate that? It _has_ been a while since she slept for more than two hours in a night. She’s pretty sure her blood stream is at least 80% caffeine at this point.

No, it happened. It definitely happened. She feels a little giddy as she gets back to work.

The other grad students gossip about who they’re going to ask to be their thesis supervisors. To Holtzmann’s surprise, not a single one of them says they’re going to ask Dr. Gorin.

“What about Dr. Gorin?” she says, inserting herself into the conversation even though she wasn’t really a part of it.

They all exchange glances. A few of them laugh.

“Gorin doesn’t take on grad students,” Dave says. “Never.”

“When was the last time someone asked?” Holtzmann says. “You guys are all just scared of her.”

“No, seriously,” Phoebe says. “She’s never done it.”

Holtzmann shakes her head. “Well, I’m going to ask.”

Their faces make it pretty clear that they think she’s crazy.

She goes to Dr. Gorin’s office one day and knocks on the open door. Dr. Gorin looks up from the stack of papers on her desk.

“Jillian,” she says. “May I help you?”

Holtzmann leans against the door frame. “Could I have a sec?”

“Stand up straight and speak in full sentences,” Dr. Gorin says.

Holtzmann straightens and resists the urge to make a gay joke. “May I please borrow a few minutes of your time, if it’s not too much trouble?”

Dr. Gorin frowns. “I would have preferred you scheduled an appointment.” She sighs. “Come in. Please close the door behind you.”

Holtzmann obliges and takes a seat across the desk. She glances around Dr. Gorin’s office. This is her first time here. There are three bookshelves, all neatly crammed with titles. A small, modest plant sits in the windowsill. There’s no artwork, no family photos. She wonders if Dr. Gorin lives alone, too.

“Stop slouching,” Dr. Gorin commands.

Holtzmann pulls herself upright in the chair. She didn’t even notice she was.

She licks her lips. “Uhhh, so, I was wondering…if maybe you’d consider taking me on? As my mentor?”

Silence. Dr. Gorin stares at her, unblinking. Holtzmann stares right back. She’s good at staring contests, too. She always wins.

Several minutes passes. Maybe other people would get uncomfortable and leave, but Holtzmann doesn’t.

“Surely,” Dr. Gorin says finally, “you’ve heard that I don’t take on graduate students.”

Holtzmann leans forward, propping her elbows on the desk. “I did hear that.”

“And yet, you’re sitting in my office with your elbows on my desk and asking anyway.”

Holtzmann removes her elbows, leans back. “I am.”

“So why on earth do you think I would agree to mentor you?”

“I’m better at what I do than any of those chumps downstairs and I would make you proud.”

“Non-sequiturs will not get you anywhere, Jillian. I’ve just told you that I do not accept graduate students, regardless of their prowess or ego.”

“When was the last time you did?”

“1993,” Dr. Gorin says immediately.

 _X-Files year_ , Holtzmann’s brain reminds her. _Camp year_. Useful information.

“Why haven’t you taken anyone on since then?” she challenges.

Dr. Gorin sighs again. “Is there anything else you need, Jillian, or may I get on with my work?”

“Yeah,” Holtzmann says, crossing her arms, “I want to know why you won’t consider mentoring me.”

“I don’t need to explain my reasons to you—you are a bright girl. My answer is no, and that is all you need to know.”

“Nah,” Holtzmann says, and leans forward on the desk again. Now she’s getting irritated. “I’m not a ‘bright girl.’ I’m a genius, and so are you.”

Dr. Gorin presses her lips together into a thin line.

“I think,” Holtzmann says, knowing full well that she’s digging her own grave, “that you and I are more alike than you’d like to admit, Dr. Gorin. And I think that the last time you took on a grad student to mentor, it didn’t go well, so you haven’t done it since. Which, in my opinion, isn’t a good enough reason. You’ve got to move on and try again.”

Dr. Gorin raises an eyebrow.

Holtzmann settles back into her chair again, raising her own eyebrow. _Your move_.

Dr. Gorin picks up her pencil, starts writing on the paper in front of her again. Holtzmann wonders if that’s Dr. Gorin’s way of telling her to fuck off and get out of her office.

Holtzmann doesn’t move, though.

“I will mentor you,” Dr. Gorin says, without looking up from her work.

A warm feeling spreads through Holtzmann’s chest. She stands. Mission accomplished. “Thank you, Dr. Gorin. You won’t regret this.”

“Next time you wish to speak to me, please schedule an appointment,” Dr. Gorin says. Then, there’s the _tiniest_ tick at the corner of her mouth, so small that nobody would notice if they weren’t looking for it like Holtzmann was.

She grins. “Will do.”

Then she turns and strides from the office.

 

Erin doesn’t get into CERN.

She throws her Swiss textbook in the garbage.

 

Holtzmann flies home for Christmas and spends time with Mark and eight-year-old Luke, who, much to her delight, has developed a bit of a Star Wars obsession. The older he gets, the more Holtzmann sees her mom in him. It’s in everything from his curly blond hair to the way he taps the tip of his nose when he can’t think of a word. It makes her miss her mom all over again.

She spends time with Abby, too, who’s back in Battle Creek for Christmas as well. Holtzmann gushes about Dr. Gorin and the lab and MIT for upwards of an hour, and Abby agrees that it sounds awesome.

It’s a little sad, flying back to Boston alone and returning to her sad little apartment. She reheats leftover Chinese takeout from before she left, and it gives her a stomach ache.

She’s not sure if she likes living alone. She thought she would, but now she misses having someone to talk to everyday, someone to watch TV with, someone to discuss her day with. Nobody at the lab talks to her unless it’s necessary.

So, she finds a new bar, a gay bar in Jamaica Plain, and manages to talk herself into being hired (before the owner even calls up Big Ben and he raves about her for ten full minutes). She starts bartending again, and she gets to talk to people. After a while, that bar embraces her signature cocktails, too.

She hooks up with more women. All kinds of women. Short, tall, fat, thin. Different skin colours and hair colours and eye colours. Different jobs and hobbies and fashion styles. All of them interesting. All of them beautiful. None of them Erin.

She meets most of them at the bar, and sometimes they’ll bring her to their place, sometimes she’ll bring them to hers, sometimes they won’t even make it that far. Once, she eats a girl out in the bathroom of the bar during her break. She never does catch her name. Her boss never finds out.

She always uses the same line. _Come here often?_ It worked the first time, and it works every time after that, too. She gets better at saying it. Lower, smoother, more seductively, more confidently.

She remembers everything about the women. Their names if she catches them, phone numbers if they give them, what their houses look like inside, what they look like when they come. She remembers everything she does with them. Whether or not it was good.

One thing’s always the same. They never stay the night, and neither does she.

She doesn’t mind. She doesn’t want to spend the night sleeping next to any of them, anyway.

One evening, she collapses into the bed of a girl named Amber. A hairdresser, she had told Holtzmann back at the bar. Her room is cluttered but neat. There’s a small blue teddy bear in the corner of her bed and a lot of ticket stubs wedged in her mirror. She laughs a lot. _Merry_ is a good adjective to describe her.

Holtzmann is still breathing heavy when Amber gets back from the bathroom. She takes a few minutes to catch her breath, then sits up. Half her hair has come undone from her bun and it’s unsalvageable, so she pulls out the elastic and shakes it out, then starts to sweep it back to redo the bun.

Amber catches her wrist. “Can I?”

Holtzmann shrugs and releases her hair so it lands down around her shoulders. Amber’s expert fingers ( _very_ expert, in more than one respect, Holtzmann thinks) comb through the knotted curls.

“You have pretty hair,” Amber says. “You always pull it back like that?”

Holtzmann hums.

“Mind if I play around with it a bit, hon?” Amber asks.

“Sure,” Holtzmann says. She has nowhere else to be. She adjusts so she’s sitting with her back to Amber.

The bed shifts as Amber gets up and grabs a few items from the top of her dresser, then rejoins Holtzmann. A second later, she feels a comb run through her hair.

It takes a good ten minutes just to untangle it all. Holtzmann snags the book propped open on Amber’s nightstand, memorizes the page number, then starts reading it from the beginning.

Amber’s fingers return to her hair, lifting sections, moving the part from one side to another and back again. The comb returns. She parts it far on one side, sweeps all the hair to the other.

“Where’d that hair tie go?” Amber murmurs.

It’s around Holtzmann’s wrist. She removes it and hands it back to Amber without losing her place in the book. She feels a section of her hair be pulled tight, then twisted into the elastic. A large section is still draped over to the side. Some of it falls into Holtzmann’s face. She blows it away.

Amber crawls around so she’s sitting at Holtzmann’s side. She weighs the section of hair in her hand. The comb is between her teeth. She looks deep in concentration.

“You strike me as the type of girl,” she says after removing the comb, “who should have interestin’ hair.”

Holtzmann has never cared much about her hair. It’s just something that’s there, attached to her scalp, now decidedly brighter and more artificial-looking than her natural colour. Having it down is out of the question; it would get in the way. Long hair is a fire hazard. On more than one occasion, she’s wondered if she should cut it all off. She never has, though. She doesn’t care enough.

“I guess,” she says.

Amber nods. “Whaddya do in school, again?”

“Science,” Holtzmann says. “Building stuff. Inventing. Making stuff explode.”

“Yeah,” Amber mutters, running her hand through her own head of tight, dark curls, “that seems about right.”

She climbs off the bed and stands in front of Holtzmann. She hooks two fingers under Holtzmann’s chin (the same two fingers that were inside her not a half an hour before, Holtzmann notes, but at least she washed them after they finished) and gently tips her head up, then left and right, studying her face. Holtzmann blinks up at her. The moment is surprisingly intimate in a way that she hasn’t experienced in years. She swallows.

“Yeah,” Amber says again, seemingly to herself. “Yeah, that’ll work.”

She sits back down beside Holtzmann and picks up the section of hair again, then begins working the comb through it backwards. She’s slow, careful, methodical.

When she finishes with that, she pulls out the elastic and redoes the back, then Holtzmann feels a series of pins being slid into place. She picks one up from the pile beside her on the bed and examines it.

“You never seen a bobby pin before?” Amber says with another one of her merry laughs.

Holtzmann has. Her mom used to use tons of them to put her hair up every day. She would help her take them out at the end of the day, sometimes.

She doesn’t say anything, just sets it back down.

“Okay, hon,” Amber says. “Close your eyes and mouth.”

Holtzmann does.

There’s a hiss as hairspray clouds around her head. She coughs. Amber caps the can.

“You wanna see?”

Holtzmann turns back to page 109 and sets the book in its spot on the end table, then unfolds her legs and clambers off the bed. She walks over to the mirror, still wearing her shirt and bra, naked from the waist down. She stares at her reflection for a few seconds. She can’t even explain what Amber’s done. It’s swept around to the back on one side with a clean line of a part, and the rest of it is this gigantic frizzy, curly poof that’s defying all laws of physics.

“Whatcha think?” Amber says.

Holtzmann touches the poof. It stays put. She turns around. “Can you show me?”

Amber laughs. “Sure.”

She does. Step by step.

When she’s done, Holtzmann pulls her underwear and pants back on, thanks her for the night and the hair, and politely kisses her goodbye.

The next day, she replicates the hair perfectly. And the day after that. And the day after that.

Later, as she wedges open bobby pins with her teeth, she wonders if she should’ve got Amber’s number. If she could’ve had Amber’s gentle touch every night. The thought makes her sad, for some reason. Disappointed.

She doesn’t hook up with anyone for a long time after that.

Nobody at the lab seems to notice her new hairstyle, and if they do then they don’t say anything.

Dr. Gorin is exactly the sort of mentor that Holtzmann thought she would be. Cold, aloof, but incredibly helpful. She makes Holtzmann better every single day. She’s amazing. Holtzmann hangs off her every word and hopes to receive more lukewarm praise.

The year draws to a close. Over the summer, Holtzmann divides her time between Ann Arbor and Battle Creek. She sleeps on the couch in Abby’s new apartment and picks up a few shifts at her old bar. Big Ben is overjoyed to see her, as are her old regulars. Big Ben and the new bartender haven’t been able to master her signature drinks yet, even though people still ask for them. She walks them through the steps again.

She stays at her house in Battle Creek, too, and spends long summer days exploring forests and jumping over creeks with Luke. It makes her feel like a kid again. He shows her how he’s memorized the Star Wars movies word for word. She watches them with him until she’s got them memorized, too, and then they act out scenes in the living room. She delivers Leia’s lines and masters R2-D2’s beeps and Chewbacca’s roars, even C-3PO’s voice. Luke says all the other lines. He does a damn good Vader, and it’s hilarious watching him perform the _I am your father_ scene with himself. They battle with plastic lightsabers. He turns 9 and Holtzmann tries hard not to think about her mom.

She heads back to Boston and starts her second year at MIT.

She works on her thesis, which is a hell of a lot more work than she’d like.

“Will you be staying to complete your doctorate?” Dr. Gorin asks one day.

Holtzmann hasn’t really considered it. She supposes she’s already here, and she likes working under Dr. Gorin. She likes MIT.

“Okay,” she says. She applies for the doctoral program.

It takes her weeks and weeks of all-nighters to finish her thesis, and when she finally finishes it in December, she celebrates by getting drunk alone on the floor of her apartment. She could’ve gone drinking at the bar she works at, maybe got laid for the first time in ten months, but she doesn’t. By the end of the night, the room spins fast as she hauls herself off the floor and flops onto her mattress.

The next day, she finds out that she left a series of extremely drunk voicemails for Abby. Abby just laughs on the phone and says that she’s keeping them forever. When Holtzmann goes back to Michigan and sees her over Christmas, she won’t even let her listen to them, which probably means that they’re bad and will be used as blackmail at some point.

Abby says she’s applied to other schools and is considering transferring from U of M to somewhere out of state. That surprises Holtzmann. Abby loves Michigan.

She goes back to MIT, bartends, and loiters around Dr. Gorin’s lab until she gets word that she’s been accepted into the doctoral program. Abby tells her she’s been accepted to Yale and will be transferring there come September. Holtzmann uses a week’s worth of tips to have a massive floral arrangement sent to Abby’s apartment to congratulate her. The day that Abby receives them, they talk on the phone for almost three hours.

In September, Abby moves to Connecticut, which is definitely closer than Michigan was. Holtzmann starts another year at MIT.

The year is uneventful. Abby comes and stays with her over Thanksgiving, and they order Chinese and sit on the floor and talk. Abby shames her for her lack of furniture and tells her to buy some chairs.

Holtzmann does. Well, she doesn’t _buy_ them, per se, she finds them in an alley. She makes sure to clean them, though.

They both end up in Battle Creek for Christmas again. Mark tells her that he’s been seeing a woman. Wants to know if she’s okay with that.

“Why would I care?” she says.

She does care.

But it’s been over eight years, now, and she doesn’t expect him to stay alone forever.

The rest of the school year passes in a blur of classes and long nights at the lab. She spends another summer working at the bar.

September comes, and she turns twenty-five. She feels old. She makes herself a mug cake and eats it in bed alone. It’s her first time celebrating her birthday in years. Usually they just come and go, uneventful. Last year she even forgot about it until Abby called her.

She remembers Erin’s birthday every August without fail, though, and usually spends the day in a funk.

Classes start for the second year of her doctorate. This year, she’s taking a few interesting courses that she’s pretty excited about. There’s an advanced class on quantum theory on Thursdays that she can’t wait for.

The first Thursday of the term, she sets down her tools in the lab, takes off her protective gloves and goggles, and grabs her patchwork bag to head off to the class. She doesn’t bother taking off her lab coat. She likes the way it looks. It’s not white, but rather very faded denim that’s almost the colour of mold. She loves it.

She strides down the hallway with the lab coat flapping behind her and reaches the classroom. She steps inside and surveys the small room for a spot.

Then she freezes.

Her heart climbs into her throat and she starts to shake.

It’s Erin.

It’s Erin, sitting in the back row of the classroom with her head bent over a notebook. It’s unmistakably Erin.

Holtzmann’s hand clenches around the strap of her bag.

Erin looks up.

They make eye contact for three painful seconds. Erin’s eyes go wide in something that looks a lot like fear.

Holtzmann turns on her heel and leaves.

Part of her expects Erin to come running out of the classroom after her, shouting her name down the hallway.

She doesn’t.

Holtzmann doesn’t stop walking until she gets back to the lab. She drops her bag on the floor even though Dr. Gorin will yell at her for the tripping hazard, and she picks up the project she left behind.

Her hands are shaking. The device electrocutes her with a little zap and she drops it to the table and swears loudly.

Suddenly, Dr. Gorin is in front of her. She crosses her arms. “You are not in your quantum theory class.”

Holtzmann doesn’t ask herself why Dr. Gorin has her schedule memorized in the first week. “Nope,” she says, tugging on her protective gloves. Her hands are still shaking. “I’m dropping it.”

“Whatever for?”

“Because.”

“That is not an acceptable answer, Jillian. Try again.”

Holtzmann exhales loudly. “There’s someone I used to know in that class.”

“And?”

“Someone I used to know in the biblical sense.”

There’s a fraction of a pause. “That is still not an acceptable reason to drop a course.”

“But she’s…she’s…”

How does Holtzmann explain that Erin isn’t _just_ someone she used to know? Someone she used to sleep with? How does she explain that Erin was so much more than that? How does she explain that Erin was her entire world?

“I just can’t be in a class with her,” Holtzmann finishes.

Dr. Gorin doesn’t seem to react at all to the pronoun, which means she either knew already or doesn’t give a shit. Probably both.

“Too bad,” Dr. Gorin says, “because you are going to do it anyway. No woman should stand in the way of your education. Now go.”

“But you d—”

“ _Now_ , Jillian.”

Holtzmann grumbles as she removes her gloves and picks up her bag again, slinking out of the lab.

When she gets back to the classroom, the door is shut and the lecture has begun. She takes a deep breath, then opens the door and steps inside.

Professor Simmons stops mid-sentence as Holtzmann shuts the door and crosses the room, then drops into a seat in the front row. She doesn’t look at the back of the classroom. She doesn’t even look to see if Erin is still there, or if she left as well.

“How considerate of you to join us after all,” Professor Simmons says dryly.

“Sorry,” she mutters, pulling a pencil and a loose sheet of paper from her bag that doesn’t have much written on it already.

For the rest of the class, she tries hard not to think about who may or may not be sitting behind her. She scrawls rapid notes, doodles in the margins of her syllabus, and counts the seconds left.

As soon as Professor Simmons says he’s dismissing them, Holtzmann is up and out of her chair, not even stopping to properly put her paper and pencil back in her bag. As she bolts for the door, she sees a blue sweater in her peripherals. So Erin is still there after all.

As she walks down the hallway, she shoves her paper and pencil into the well-worn bag. What the hell is Erin doing here at MIT? Holtzmann thought she was doing her doctoral work at CERN. Did she not get in?

She almost feels sad about the possibility, but she catches herself. She shouldn’t care. All she should care about is why Erin is infringing on _her_ territory, of all places…even though Erin probably had no idea that Holtzmann was at MIT. She probably wouldn’t have come if she knew.

When she gets back to the lab, Dr. Gorin is waiting for her.

“Would you look at that; you survived.”

Holtzmann rolls her eyes.

Sure, she survived this time, but how is she going to get through this entire class?

Maybe Erin will drop out.

 

Every Thursday, Erin stares at the back of Jillian’s head and wonders if she made a mistake.

She’s been wondering that for almost four years now, but she’s always been able to tell herself that she made the right decision and _almost_ convince herself that it’s true.

But sitting here, studying Jillian’s bent neck, her hair lighter than Erin’s ever seen it, pulled into a bizarre, indescribable style that seems perfect for her, Erin finds it really hard to tell herself that she did the right thing.

She’s not even sure why she’s here.

She knew Jillian was here at MIT, knew it would be hard, but came anyway. She figured she probably wouldn’t see her…but was kind of hoping she would.

Every Thursday, the second class ends, Jillian beelines for the door and has disappeared by the time Erin gets into the hallway. She’s almost glad about it. She doesn’t know what she would say to her.

Instead of trying to find her, she goes back to the apartment she’s been living in for over a year now, and she pushes play on a message that’s been saved on her answering machine for almost two years, one that she’s heard more times than she can count.

 _“ERIN. Eriiin. Y’know what I ha—it’s me. It’s me, Jil—HA. Ha, y’thought I was gonna say’t but I WON’T. Listen, listen, lisssssen, y’know what I’m gonna say t’you? ’Cause you’re not dead, I KNOW you’re not. Y’didn’t go CRRSSHBOOM. An y’know WHAT? Y’know, y’know—SHIT, my drink spi—you know WHAT, Erin? M’doin’ jus great without you. I did m’thesis and MIT is gonna gimme a Ma—hic—Master’s and—HA, Mister Master’s, that’s what they’ll call—but I’m doin’ GREAT, okay? An y’can go FUC—_ ”

That’s when the machine cut her off.

Erin wonders if Jillian remembers calling, or if she was so drunk that she blacked out.

She must remember.

Jillian remembers everything.

 

Holtzmann never tells Abby that Erin’s in her class.

She talks about all her classes, even talks about _this_ class, but doesn’t mention Erin.

She feels Erin’s eyes boring holes in the back of her head every Thursday.

All her old anger resurfaces. How _dare_ she sit back there after what she did and not even have the guts to say anything?

Holtzmann knows it’s hypocritical of her to say that when she hasn’t had the courage to confront Erin either.

But she doesn’t owe Erin anything. She’s not the one who should be apologizing.

She spends a lot of time thinking about Erin. It’s the most she’s thought about her in years. She tries to block out the memories, but they’re all there. Erin at nine, reading on the grass in their Spot. Erin at twelve, pinching her nose in Cabin 13 and eating a Pringle. Erin at seventeen, in a pale purple dress, kissing her back under the moon. Erin at twenty, fists twisted in her sheets, moaning her name. Erin, Erin, Erin, Erin, Erin. When she closes her eyes, all she can see is Erin.

The old wounds open up, make it hard to get through the day.

How _dare_ Erin put her through this again.

In the lab one night, she pounds her frustration into a smooth metal ring, drills every furious thought right through it, melts down, molds her anger into something less sharp, fixes it into place so it won’t go anywhere.

She buys a chain, hangs it around her neck where it sits heavy against her chest. A reminder.

Dr. Gorin gets it right away when she sees it for the first time. Holtzmann can tell.

“I didn’t take you for a jewelry person,” she says.

Holtzmann shrugs. It’s true. She’s never been one to wear jewelry. “This isn’t jewelry so much as it is a message.”

Dr. Gorin nods her head once in acknowledgement. “It suits you.”

Holtzmann runs her finger along the screw. “You want one?” she jokes.

She doesn’t really mean it, but to her surprise, Dr. Gorin says yes. Holtzmann is a little baffled, but she crafts an identical pendant, even buys a second chain.

When she hands it to Dr. Gorin, her mentor snips the chain in half to remove the pendant and throws the pieces in the trash. Then she solders the pendant to a pin and sticks it to her lab coat like a brooch.

“It suits you,” Holtzmann says.

Dr. Gorin nods again.

A few weeks later, Holtzmann gets to class to see Erin talking to Professor Simmons. She takes her seat and pretends to look for something in her bag. Her gaze automatically goes to the small ghost pin amongst the dozens and dozens of other pins littering the fabric. She’s never taken it off, not once, not since she first slid it into place sixteen years ago.

Doing so would feel like giving up, somehow.

There’s movement. Someone is standing in front of her desk. Someone wearing impractical heels. Since when does Erin wear heels?

She looks up, and there she is. Looking down at Holtzmann like she wants to say something. Her eyes flicker down to the necklace, and Holtzmann can tell that she gets it right away, too.

 _Go on,_ Holtzmann tries to say with her level stare. _I dare you to say something._

Erin stands there for a second more, then walks away.

Holtzmann grits her teeth, digs the heels of her boots into the carpet to keep herself from standing up and shouting at her.

She keeps her head down for the rest of the semester. She doesn’t have any more run-ins with Erin, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t spend every Thursday on edge (and the rest of the week recovering and preparing for the next Thursday).

December comes as a relief. She lies to Mark and Abby and says that she’s too busy to come back to Michigan for Christmas.

Really, she just doesn’t think she can go back to a place where there are so many memories of Erin. Not this year. Not when she’s spent the whole semester trying to ignore her and having all her old feelings resurface. Plus, she knows that Abby will know something’s wrong when they’re face to face, and Holtzmann doesn’t think she’ll be able to keep Erin’s return a secret if Abby asks.

She’s a little sad about the fact that she won’t get to see Abby, Mark, or Luke, but she mails presents so they don’t think she’s forgotten about them. As much as she wants to see them, she just can’t manage it. Maybe next year.

She spends the days leading up to Christmas at the lab with Dr. Gorin. They’re the only ones there. The rest of the school has closed down for the break already. The two of them don’t talk a lot, but continue working. It’s nice.

She goes to the lab on Christmas Eve day expecting to find it locked, but to her surprise, Dr. Gorin is there like it’s any other day.

For a long time, Holtzmann thought that Dr. Gorin must live alone with no family, but sometimes she slips up and gives little hints about her personal life. One day back in March, she had left the lab early after responding to Holtzmann’s raised eyebrow with, “We have a prior engagement.”

What Holtzmann gathered from that was that she had _someone_. Either that or she had suddenly started using the royal we. Both are possibilities.

It was the first time Holtzmann got the sense that there could be more than just Dr. Gorin, that maybe she isn’t alone after all. Having realized her mistake, Dr. Gorin hasn’t said anything similar since, so she can’t draw any definitive conclusions. It doesn’t bother Holtzmann that much that she doesn’t know anything about Dr. Gorin, but she _is_ curious.

Now, watching her stride around the lab on Christmas Eve, she wonders if maybe Dr. Gorin is alone after all.

“Jillian,” Dr. Gorin says in surprise when she notices her.

“Hey, Doc,” Holtzmann says with a salute as she sets her stuff down.

“I would have thought you would be spending the day with family,” Dr. Gorin says, going back to her work.

Holtzmann shrugs. “Likewise.”

Dr. Gorin looks up, meets her gaze for a few moments. Then she looks back down.

They work in relative silence for the rest of the day. Holtzmann asks if she can play music while they work, something that Dr. Gorin doesn’t usually allow.

She dips her head. “As long as it isn’t Christmas music.”

Well, if it isn’t a Christmas miracle. Holtzmann starts up a mixtape of 80s hits in an ancient boombox she salvaged from a dumpster one time. Dated? Yes. Does she care? No.

“A good decade for music,” Dr. Gorin says.

“The best,” Holtzmann agrees. It’s all she listens to. She refuses to listen to anything from the 90s, and songs in the 2000s have been grating so far. The 80s, though, she can trust. The 80s haven’t betrayed her yet.

Other than the music and the occasional exchange related to what they’re working on, they’re quiet. As the night winds down, Holtzmann delays leaving. She doesn’t want to go back to her apartment and spend Christmas Eve alone, because that’s going to lead into waking up on Christmas morning alone, and she doesn’t want to think about that. Maybe she can get away with staying at the lab all night.

Eventually, though, Dr. Gorin removes her gloves, which means she’s ready to leave and lock up.

“Guess you want to get home to your family,” Holtzmann grumbles, watching out of the corner of her eye to see if Dr. Gorin reacts to the word.

“Yes, my partner will be waiting up for me,” Dr. Gorin says, with as much inflection as one might have discussing the weather.

Holtzmann chokes on the air. Dr. Gorin looks over her shoulder sharply as she pulls her coat on.

Partner. _Partner?_

A slow smile spreads across Holtzmann’s face until her cheeks hurt.

“None of that, now,” Dr. Gorin says. “Get your belongings. I need to lock up the lab.”

Holtzmann’s grin doesn’t disappear as she grabs her bag and jacket. Dr. Gorin secures the lab and locks up, then looks at Holtzmann, then her watch.

“I’ll drive you home,” she says briskly.

“I can walk. I’m only in Fenway.”

“It’s Christmas Eve, Jillian.”

Holtzmann sighs. That it is. “Thanks.”

Dr. Gorin’s car is the only one left in the parking lot. The lone streetlight overhead flickers as she unlocks it and they slide inside. She starts the car and cranks up the heat, and they sit in silence while they wait for the windshield to defrost.

“Sooo,” Holtzmann says. “ _Partner_ , huh? What’s her name?”

Dr. Gorin ignores her, adjusts the heat again. Then she shifts the car into gear and pulls out of the parking spot.

“Don’t like that one, alright,” Holtzmann says as they drive across the parking lot. “How long have you been together?”

More silence.

“What does she do for a living?”

Silence.

“Where did—”

“Which street do you live on?” Dr. Gorin interrupts.

Holtzmann tells her. She falls quiet as they drive.

“Sorry for all the questions,” she says after a while. “It’s just that I’ve always looked up to you a lot and I didn’t know that you—I’ve never met—” She exhales. “I’ve just never had anyone to look up to in _this_ way, and I’m really glad that I have you,” she finishes.

Silence. They’re waiting at a red light.

“Idolization usually leads to disappointment,” Dr. Gorin says.

Holtzmann watches out the door’s window. She presses her nose against the glass and sighs, her breath fogging up the glass for a second. “That’s okay. I’m used to people letting me down.”

“Stop smudging my window, please.”

Holtzmann draws back, rubs her fist against the nose print, manages to make it worse.

The light turns green.

They’re quiet for the rest of the short drive except for Holtzmann’s occasional directions.

They pull up in front of her apartment building.

“Thanks for the ride,” she says. She unbuckles her seatbelt but doesn’t move.

Dr. Gorin sits stiffly in her seat, her hands still on the steering wheel. “In 1993, I…took on…a grad student who was very like you.”

Holtzmann isn’t exactly sure what that means. Very like her in the weird way? In the gay way? In the genius way? In some other way that she doesn’t even know about?

“What happened to her?” Holtzmann asks, because _something_ had to have happened to make Dr. Gorin not take on another grad student for a good ten years.

Dr. Gorin finally looks at her. “Nothing happened to her. She’s waiting for me at home this very moment.”

Oh. _Oh._ Suddenly everything makes sense.

Holtzmann grins again and holds her hand up for a high five. “ _Nice.”_

Dr. Gorin stares at her hand.

“You’re supposed to hit it,” Holtzmann says.

Dr. Gorin rolls her eyes. Then, after a pause, she briefly high fives Holtzmann back.

“Please never do that again,” she says.

Holtzmann grins wider. “I’m going to idolize you forever, you know that, right?”

Dr. Gorin tsks. “You shouldn’t.”

“I’m gonna anyway.”

She sighs. “Very well, then. I suppose I will have to try not to disappoint you.”

“I think…that I’m gonna be _very_ disappointed if I don’t get to meet your grad-student-turned-lover one day.”

“ _Goodnight,_ Jillian.”

“Alriiight.” Holtzmann opens the door and clambers out, then bends down. “Thanks again for the ride.”

“Take care of yourself, Jillian,” Dr. Gorin says, staring straight ahead through the windshield, “and please don’t come to the lab tomorrow.”

“I’ll try,” Holtzmann says. “Merry Christmas, Dr. Gorin.”

“Merry Christmas, Jillian.”

Holtzmann goes inside and flops on her bed without even taking off her boots. There’s a single strand of coloured lights taped to the wall above her. Other than that, you wouldn’t know that it’s Christmas.

After a while, she rolls off the bed, takes off her boots, and microwaves a frozen meal. The potatoes look slightly radioactive, just the way she likes them.

Then she crawls back onto her bed and eats her dinner with a spoon, because all her forks are dirty. She puts on her TV (the one she found on the side of the road in perfect condition), not to watch, but just for the background noise. It makes her feel less alone.

She really can’t complain about this. She’s the one who did this to herself. She could be back in Battle Creek, spending the night listening to Luke tiptoeing to the living room every hour to see if Santa Claus has come yet.

Does he even believe in Santa Claus anymore, or are those days long gone?

She believed in Santa Claus long after she really should’ve. She remembers asking for the same thing, Christmas after Christmas until she was thirteen, the year that her mom and Mark announced they were expecting. She had been asking for one specific person to come back, and instead she had been gifted an entirely new person.

That was the last year she asked for Erin, and the year she stopped believing.

Suddenly, her meal tastes like wet sand. She sets it down on the milk crate she uses as a nightstand and rolls to face the other direction, grabbing a pillow and wrapping her arms all the way around it, clutching it to her chest. It’s a poor stand-in for human contact. She knows that.

What was the point of avoiding Battle Creek if she’s just going to think about Erin anyway?

She tries to breathe around the hole in her chest, but it’s not working.

She’s not sure how long she stays there like that, but eventually she drags herself off the mattress and throws the remnants of her now-cold dinner away. Then she finds the half-carton of eggnog that she had almost forgotten about (which just shows how often she looks in her fridge) and adds so much rum that what’s left of the beverage turns noticeably browner. She forgoes a glass and takes a swig right from the carton and grimaces. Then she takes another gulp.

She snags her phone and sits in one of the chairs that Abby made her get.

It rings for a long time after she dials. She almost hangs up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Abby.”

“Jesus, Holtzmann, it’s almost midnight.”

“Merry Christmas to you, too.”

Abby sighs. “Is that all you called to say? Couldn’t you have waited until the morning?”

“Were you asleep?”

“Of course I was asleep. Why aren’t you?”

“I was at the lab late.”

“On Christmas Eve?”

Holtzmann hums. She draws mindless shapes on the floor with her foot. Her big toe is poking out of her sock.

“Please tell me you aren’t going back tomorrow,” Abby says.

Holtzmann hums again.

“It’s _Christmas_ ,” Abby says. “You know I’d work through a hurricane, but even I wouldn’t work on _Christmas_.”

“What else would I do?”

“Eat? Drink? Be merry?”

Holtzmann takes another long drink from her boozy eggnog carton. “Done.”

“You don’t sound very merry.”

“Ho, ho, ho,” Holtzmann says with zero inflection whatsoever.

There’s a pause. “Are you thinking about your mom?”

She wasn’t, but now she is. She’s been thinking about her a lot lately. This July, it will have been ten years. Ten whole years.

Between that and all this Erin heartache that’s been resurfacing these past few months, it’s amazing that she hasn’t completely shut down. She knows that’s why she’s been working at the lab so much—if she can keep her brain and hands busy, then she doesn’t have enough time or energy to spiral.

“No,” Holtzmann answers honestly.

There’s a longer pause. “Are you thinking about…you know who?”

“Voldemort?”

Abby doesn’t laugh at her joke. “You are, aren’t you?”

Holtzmann doesn’t say anything.

Abby sighs again. “You need to move on, Jillian.”

“Holtzmann,” she corrects automatically.

“Yeah, yeah. Can I talk to Jillian, though? Can you be Jillian for like five minutes and be straight with me?”

Holtzmann takes a pull from the carton and sets it on the floor, then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Neither one of us can be straight, sorry.”

“Jillian.”

“Yeah?” Jillian says quietly.

“Have you been thinking about her a lot lately, or just tonight?”

She knows she should just tell Abby the truth, tell her that she’s had to see Erin every Thursday for the past four months, tell her how hard it’s been, how Erin has set Jillian back four years in her effort to _move on,_ but she doesn’t.

“Just tonight.”

“You’re lying,” Abby says right away. “Listen to me, okay? She left. She left, and she hurt you, hurt _us_ , and she’s never coming back. You need to stop thinking about her. It’s not healthy to reminisce. You’re just going to be hurt all over again.”

Yeah, no kidding.

“There’s no ‘all over again,’” Jillian says. “It never stopped.”

Abby is quiet on the other end. “Yeah,” she says finally. “Yeah, I know.”

They’re both silent. Across the apartment, the string of Christmas lights above the bed flickers.

Jillian checks her watch. “Your five minutes with Jillian is up. And it’s past midnight.”

“Damn,” Abby says. “I was going to wish her a merry Christmas.”

“Better luck next year,” Holtzmann says.

Abby laughs. “Well, merry Christmas to whichever one of you is currently sitting in her apartment drinking alone.”

“How’d you know?”

“Because you’re my best friend and I know you, Jillian Holtzmann. That’s how. Now, I’m going back to sleep, and you should, too.”

“Fine, fine,” Holtzmann says with a smile that Abby can’t see.

“I’ll call you tomorrow to make sure you aren’t at the lab.”

“I woooon’t be. Probably.”

“You better not be, or I’m flying out there and dragging you out myself.”

“Promise?” Holtzmann says, fully grinning now. “I’d love to see you try.”

“Don’t test me.”

Holtzmann chuckles.

“Okay. Night, Holtzmann. Don’t drink too much, because if I wake up to more drunk voicemails, I’m going to drive over to your house and play them for Mark.”

“Niiiight, Abbyyyy. Merry Christmas.”

She goes to sleep after pouring the rest of the eggnog down the drain. It was making her queasy anyway.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT. Listen up, everyone. I need to give the biggest, loudest shoutout ever to Ty [(toastweasel)](http://toastweasel.tumblr.com) for several reasons. First of all, this chapter literally wouldn't exist without xem because I had no plans to write the MIT years. So THANK TY FOR THAT!
> 
> Secondly, if you follow either of us, you've probably heard us screaming about #gloriousdesertlesbians for weeks now, aka the Rebecca Gorin/OC ship that's been taking over my life that started as a spinoff to Ty's [incredible Holtzbert superhero AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8166334/chapters/18712825). And here's the thing. You need to [go read about Ty's Glorious Desert Lesbians](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11135397/chapters/24848556). It is...mostly smut. Very well-written smut. On a car. 
> 
> "Holtzbabe, why should I read *that*?" you're probably asking. WELL. HERE'S WHY. Most importantly: IT'S GOOD. REALLY GOOD. You don't have to have read the superhero AU to read it (although you SHOULD because it's AWESOME). Seriously, guys, trust me. Connie Williams is one of my favourite characters to ever exist, and I've read a LOT of fiction. I love her so much that Ty has graciously let me adopt her into this fic. Now, I want you guys to read the original GDLs before you meet Connie in the next chapter of this fic, and therefore I won't post the next chapter until Ty's beautiful fic has received the amount of attention it deserves. I'll be watching the numbers. GO FORTH. I'D BETTER SEE YOU COMMENTING ON IT OR I'LL WITHHOLD THE SECOND HALF OF THIS CHAPTER FOR AS LONG AS I DEEM FIT. DON'T TEST ME. So enjoy! I hope you love Connie as much as we do. Come join the Corin revolution. We have t-shirts. ;)


	10. (I was too proud to say I was wrong)

Holtzmann wakes up on Christmas morning around 5:00am and goes out for a walk. She doesn’t go every morning like she used to, mostly because she frequently walks to and from MIT nowadays.

There are a lot more lights on than usual in the houses she passes, and through the windows of some of them she can see gleaming Christmas trees, families in their pajamas, kids jumping around in excitement.

By the time she gets back to her apartment, the sun has completely risen. She showers and takes time getting her hair perfect even though she’s not going anywhere nice, then she finds the most festive item of clothing she has, a burgundy button-up, and puts it on with a grey vest and a pair of grey pants that pretty much match each other.

Then she goes to the lab.

This time, she _completely_ expects it to be locked, but she’s going to try anyway, because what else is she supposed to do by herself on Christmas?

It’s not locked.

She leans in the doorway and takes in Dr. Gorin’s form bent over one of the work tables.

“I see how it is. You just wanted the lab to yourself,” Holtzmann says.

Dr. Gorin jolts and turns so fast that her lab coat whips around her legs. “I told you not to come to the lab today.”

Holtzmann shrugs. “And I did it anyway. What’re you doing here?”

“The same as you.”

Holtzmann perks up, grinning. “Avoiding debilitating loneliness?”

Dr. Gorin stares her down for several long moments. “Working.”

“Your grad-student-turned-lover doesn’t mind you working on Christmas?”

“I would rather you didn’t call her that, but no, she does not.”

“Whaddya expect me to call her? You won’t tell me her name. I could make up a name for her, if you want. What’s a good name…hmm…Helena?”

“Helena,” Dr. Gorin repeats dryly.

“Am I close?”

Dr. Gorin presses her lips together with a wry shake of her head.

“Elizabeth? And you call her Liz?”

Dr. Gorin turns back to her work.

“More uncommon than that? Jezebel?”

Dr. Gorin sighs.

“Bridgette? Louella? Jen? Penelope? Catherine?” Holtzmann’s mouth falls open. “ _Jillian?_ Is that why you said she was a lot like me?”

Dr. Gorin turns back around and rolls her eyes. “Enough of that.”

“I’ll stop it if you tell me.”

She stares for a moment, unblinking. “Connie.”

“Connie?” Jillian taps her chin. “Connie,” she repeats. “Conniiieee. _Connie_.”

“Are you finished?”

“Connie,” Jillian says one last time. “I like her already.”

Dr. Gorin harrumphs in a way that almost sounds pleased.

They settle into silence as they get to work. They don’t talk any more about why both of them are at the lab on Christmas. If Dr. Gorin is questioning whether or not Holtzmann was joking with her ‘debilitating loneliness’ quip, she doesn’t give any indication.

Holtzmann is getting really good at joking about things that hurt. It doesn’t actually make her feel any better, but she does it anyway.

Several hours pass. It’s early, not even 5:00pm, when Dr. Gorin removes her gloves.

Holtzmann looks up with a pout. “Heading home already?”

Dr. Gorin makes some sort of noise of confirmation.

Holtzmann doesn’t move. She doesn’t want to leave yet. Would Dr. Gorin notice if she smuggled half a nuclear reactor home with her to distract herself with?

“Jillian, I need to lock up. Surely you have better things to do on Christmas than sit around here tightening the same screw for another several hours.”

Damn it. Nothing gets past her.

“Right, yeah, I’ve gotta go exchange gifts with my reflection.” Holtzmann shields her mouth and stage whispers, “I hear she went big this year. Don’t know if I can top it.”

Dr. Gorin folds her arms and gives her a long look.

“Alright, alright, I’m getting up,” Holtzmann says.

“I’ll drive you home again.”

“You don’t have to.”

Dr. Gorin rolls her eyes.

Holtzmann grabs her coat and bag and they lock up and walk towards the parking lot like yesterday. As they wait for Dr. Gorin’s car to warm up, Holtzmann leans forward in her seat and rubs her hands together. She should really get some gloves.

“Will you really be spending your evening alone?” Dr. Gorin says.

Holtzmann looks over in surprise. Dr. Gorin is staring out the opposite window.

“Uhh…yeah,” she admits. “All my family is in Michigan.”

“Why aren’t you?” Dr. Gorin asks bluntly. “If I recall, you went back the last several years over the holiday season.”

“Um.” Holtzmann licks her lips and taps her fingers on her knees as she tries to think of an excuse that Dr. Gorin won’t judge her for. “Just didn’t feel like it this year.”

Her mentor looks over at her in a way that makes it obvious she knows Holtzmann is stretching the truth. Holtzmann shrinks away from her piercing stare.

Finally, Dr. Gorin shifts the car into drive and they take off. They’re quiet as they drive. Holtzmann idly wonders what Mark and Luke are doing right now, if they’re preparing for dinner. The Yateses will definitely be eating already. Her stomach gurgles at the thought.

She’s so distracted thinking about turkeys and hams that she doesn’t realize they’ve missed her turn until a solid minute after it’s happened.

“Uhhh…Dr. Gorin? This isn’t the way to my apartment.”

“I know.”

Holtzmann blinks. “Are you kidnapping me?”

“Something like that.”

“Huh?”

Dr. Gorin glances over at her for the briefest of seconds. “You are not spending your Christmas alone. That is unacceptable.”

Holtzmann swallows the sudden lump in her throat at the gesture. “Dr. Gorin…”

There’s no response. They continue to drive.

A few minutes later, something occurs to her. “Do I get to meet Connie?” she asks excitedly.

Dr. Gorin hums.

Holtzmann punches the air. “ _Yes!”_

This is probably the most excited she’s ever been. She _knows_ that she’s been gifted the rarest of opportunities, and she’s not taking it lightly. This is the best Christmas present she could’ve ever asked for. Her chest warms at the thought that she’s not going to spend her Christmas alone after all, but spend it with one of her favourite people in the world.

Dr. Gorin lives in the South End. They pull up and park across from a row of townhouses, and Holtzmann tears out of the car before Dr. Gorin has even shut off the engine. She bounces on her heels as she stares up at the building.

“Thank you,” she says the second Dr. Gorin is out of the car. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Come on, then,” Dr. Gorin says.

Holtzmann follows her across the street and up the stairs. As soon as they step inside, she’s hit with the smell of something yummy roasting, and her stomach rumbles again. Chicken, maybe?

It’s been so long since she’s eaten anything that didn’t come covered in cellophane that the very thought of real, fresh food has her mouth watering.

They walk down a narrow hallway past the living room. Holtzmann is surprised to see the dark red walls covered in artwork. It’s so different from Dr. Gorin’s minimalist office décor. She wonders if it’s Connie’s doing, or if it’s just a visual representation of the disconnect between Dr. Gorin’s personal life and work life.

They reach the kitchen, and there’s Connie, standing in front of the stove. Steam rises from the pot in front of her.

“You’re home early,” she says, back still to them. “It’ll be half an hour at least before dinner’s ready.”

Dr. Gorin clears her throat.

Connie sets down the fork in her hand and turns, then falters when she sees Holtzmann standing there, just behind Dr. Gorin.

“We have company,” Dr. Gorin says.

A wide, welcoming smile takes over Connie’s face instantly. “You must be Jillian. Becca couldn’t keep you away from the lab after all that, huh?”

Holtzmann, suddenly shy with the realization that Dr. Gorin has been talking about her, nods.

Connie steps closer, extending her hand. “Connie. Don’t be worried that I know who you are. Just means she likes you.”

Dr. Gorin clears her throat even louder.

Holtzmann shakes Connie’s hand and appraises her. She’s a big woman, a bit taller than Dr. Gorin, and decidedly butch, with a round face and short dark hair that’s greying. She’s about Dr. Gorin’s age, which surprises Holtzmann because of the grad student thing. She’s wearing a horrifically awesome embroidered Christmas vest. Of all the people in the world, she’s not at all who Holtzmann would’ve imagined with Dr. Gorin, yet she makes perfect sense.

Holtzmann loves her instantly.

“So you talk about me a lot, Doc?” Holtzmann says with a grin, elbowing Dr. Gorin gently.

Dr. Gorin looks sharply at her.

“Don’t worry, I probably won’t mention it again,” Holtzmann says. “For the rest of the night, that is. Tomorrow’s fair game.” She winks at Connie, who laughs.

“I like this kid,” Connie says. “Shoulda brought her home sooner, Becca.”

Holtzmann beams.

“Now I’ll never get rid of her,” Dr. Gorin mutters, but then she smiles. _Actually_ smiles.

It’s all Holtzmann can do to not tackle hug her right there.

Connie reaches out to lightly touch Dr. Gorin’s arm with a smile. Then a second later, Dr. Gorin moves to give Connie a quick peck on the lips, and Holtzmann has to cover her mouth with her hands so they can’t see _just_ how big she’s grinning at the two of them.

“Can I help with anything?” she says.

“Check on the sweet potatoes.” Connie jabs her thumb in the direction of the stove as she crosses the small kitchen and throws a cupboard open.

Holtzmann obliges, picking up the fork resting on the stove and trying to stab it through one of the sweet potato chunks rolling in the boiling water.

“Still a little crunchy,” she says. “I can eat one to back that up, if you want.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Dr. Gorin says.

“So, Jillian,” Connie says from where she’s pulling what looks like a frozen pie shell out of the freezer, “where are you from?”

“Michigan,” Holtzmann says. “Battle Creek, then I did my undergrad at U of M.”

Connie sets the pie shell down. “Nice state.”

Holtzmann leans against the counter. “You been?”

“Passed through.”

“It _is_ nice,” Holtzmann muses. “I miss it.”

“How long you been in Boston?”

Holtzmann chuckles. “You mean Dr. Gorin _didn’t_ tell you all about the little blonde pain in her ass on my very first day?”

“Nah,” Connie says. “It was at least a week.”

Holtzmann snorts and holds her hand up for a high five, which Connie returns immediately. Holtzmann points at her. “ _See,_ she knows what to do.”

Dr. Gorin rolls her eyes.

Connie opens up the box of instant chocolate pudding in her hands and Holtzmann realizes what she’s making.

“Aw, that’s my fave! You must’ve known I was coming,” she says.

“Well…” Connie looks over her shoulder very deliberately at Dr. Gorin, who frowns and inclines her head ever so slightly. Connie raises her eyebrows and juts her chin at Holtzmann with a playful smile, then mouths something that she can’t quite make out.

Holtzmann watches this silent conversation unfold with a grin of her own.

Dr. Gorin huffs, and Connie turns back to her pie-in-progress, her smile growing.

“I don’t know what just happened, but I think I’m on Connie’s side,” Holtzmann announces.

That gets a laugh, even from Dr. Gorin.

Connie keeps on asking questions about her life as they prepare the rest of dinner. Holtzmann gets put on permanent sweet potato duty, and mashes the hell out of them when she’s decided that they’re soft enough.

Dr. Gorin sets the table, and Holtzmann carries her dish of sweet potatoes over and sets it down with care. The rest of the food joins shortly after. She was right when she entered the house; it is a chicken. It looks incredible. Dr. Gorin pours herself a glass of wine and offers the bottle to Holtzmann.

“C’mon, I bet she’d rather I get her a beer, right?” Connie says from in front of the open fridge.

Holtzmann looks back and forth between them. “Uhhhh…yeah, sorry, Dr. Gorin.”

She actually doesn’t have that much of a preference, but Connie seems infinitely cooler than Holtzmann and she kind of wants to impress her. Not that she doesn’t feel the same way about Dr. Gorin, but she’s already spent the last four years of her life trying to impress _her_ , so she feels like she should focus her efforts on Connie tonight.

“Rebecca,” Dr. Gorin says quietly.

“Hm?”

Connie comes and sets a beer down at Holtzmann’s place setting, then takes her seat.

“You may call me Rebecca, but only if you promise you’ll remain professional at the lab.”

Holtzmann’s mouth falls open. “Wait, for real?”

Rebecca dips her head and takes a sip from her glass of wine.

“Is this real life?” Holtzmann wonders out loud. “Am I dreaming? Is it still last night and I’m passed out because I never threw out the rest of that spiked eggnog?”

Disapproval colours Rebecca’s face. Holtzmann grins easily.

“Don’t worry _Rebecca_ ,” she says. “My friend shamed me into disposing of it.” She mimes pouring into a sink and makes a series of glugging noises.

Rebecca tsks, whether about the topic or Holtzmann’s poor table manners she doesn’t know.

They serve their food. Holtzmann takes extra of the rosemary roasted potatoes and marvels over the fact that they aren’t glowing green like the ones she ate last night.

They start eating without any formalities, and Holtzmann goes right for the chicken, shoving one piece in her mouth and then another before she’s even finished chewing. She failed to bring a lunch along with her to the lab today, and…did she eat breakfast after she got back from her walk? She can’t remember.

She doesn’t miss the look that Rebecca and Connie share. Rebecca would’ve noticed that she didn’t eat lunch.

“Look at you go,” Connie says, impressed-sounding. “For a twig, you sure can eat.”

Holtzmann slows down, if only so she doesn’t make herself sick. That would be unfortunate.

“So,” she says, “I want to hear all about how you guys met.”

Rebecca takes a bite of her food in a way that makes it very clear that she’s not about to tell the story, but luckily Connie seems more than happy to talk about it.

“How much did Becca tell you already?”

Holtzmann waits until she’s swallowed her mouthful of food, then replies, “Just that it was ’93 and you were her grad student. She refused to tell me anything else.”

“Sounds about right.” Connie laughs and shoots a fond glance at Rebecca. “For once she’s not holding much back. It’s a short story.”

“But how’d you go from that to _this?”_ Holtzmann says, then spears two potatoes with her fork at once.

“Well, I fell for her right away,” Connie says, “and she wasn’t too keen about that.”

“Sounds about right,” Holtzmann echoes with a smirk.

Connie laughs again. “Wore her down eventually, though. Proved that we had something special worth fighting for, department scandals be damned.”

Rebecca has gone a shade pinker as she takes another sip from her wine. “And department scandals there were.”

Holtzmann props one elbow on the table and rests her cheek on her fist in enjoyment. “How fascinating. You’ll have to tell me more about that sometime. So you’ve been together for over a decade, then?”

Rebecca nods stiffly.

“Wild,” Holtzmann says, leaning back in her chair with glee.

With a smile, Connie picks up her beer and takes a long drink. As she does it, something catches Holtzmann’s eye that makes her jaw drop to the table.

“No way,” she says. “ _No way.”_

It’s a thin, simple metal band. Around her ring finger. On her left hand.

Connie grins wider, and Holtzmann is pretty sure that she knew _exactly_ what she was doing when she picked up her beer.

Holtzmann sets down her fork and rests both her palms on the table, closing her eyes. “I need a moment.”

She hears both of them laugh.

Then she opens her eyes again. “ _Rebecca,”_ she drawls, “I feel _personally_ victimized that you have never told me that you have a wife. A _wife_.”

“I didn’t feel it was necessary information to share.”

“Necessary information? _God._ If _I_ had a wife, I’d never shut up abo—” She breaks off as her stomach twists.

Maybe she ate too fast after all.

Or maybe it’s something about the phrase ‘if I had a wife’ that’s not quite sitting right. Her chest hurts all of a sudden in a recognizable way.

Connie glances quickly at Rebecca, her face concerned. “Hey, you’re around friends here, okay?”

She must think that Holtzmann’s sudden silence is because she outed herself. She’s touched by the support, but that’s not it at all.

She reaches for her beer and takes a few quick gulps, willing the hole in her chest to leave her alone for once. Can’t she just have one night without thinking about _her?_

“Thanks,” she says, trying to keep her voice even.

Connie must be able to sense that something is wrong, because she changes the subject. “So what’re you doin’ after you’re done school? Will you stay here?”

Holtzmann considers the question as she pushes any thoughts of Erin to the far back corner of her mind where they won’t bother her. “I dunno. I haven’t thought about it much.”

“Pilgrim would hire you,” Connie says with confidence.

That’s the nuclear power plant out in Plymouth.

“Jillian should set her sights far higher,” Rebecca says. “They’ll take any old riffraff down there.” She says that with a hint of a smile and an almost teasing tone.

Connie snorts, and Holtzmann feels like she’s missing something. Then she figures it out.

“Wait, is that where you work?” she asks eagerly.

Connie nods. “For twenty-six years, now.”

Holtzmann whistles. “Damn.” She looks back and forth between them. “You guys are the _coolest._ You know that, right? I want to be both of you when I grow up.”

“You’re young,” Connie says. “You got time.”

Holtzmann grins and picks up her fork again. She had almost forgotten about her food. “So, two and a half decades working at Pilgrim. That’s a bit of a hike down there, huh?”

Connie shrugs. “I don’t mind it. I love spending a couple hours a day on the bike. Well worth it.”

Holtzmann drops her fork onto her plate with a clatter and leans forward, blinking. “The what now?”

Connie points her thumb vaguely behind her. “My Harley.”

For a few seconds, all Holtzmann can do is stare at her.

“Okay,” she says finally, “you’re officially cooler than Rebecca.”

“She has two,” Rebecca says casually.

Holtzmann grips the table. “ _Two?!”_ Her mouth opens and closes a few times. She doesn’t even know what to say.

“I think you blew her mind, Becca.”

“It appears that way,” Rebecca muses dryly.

“I can show you after dinner,” Connie says.

“Show me?” Holtzmann repeats in awe. She slumps back in her chair, sliding all the way down until her butt is almost hanging off. “I’m calling it. I’m not even alive. I died yesterday. This is too good to be real life.”

“What did I tell you about slouching?”

She pouts at Rebecca. “Leave me alone. I’m processing. This is necessary.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes.

They finish up dinner, then dessert (Holtzmann has three slices of pie), and then Rebecca shoos them away while she does the dishes. As promised, Connie takes Holtzmann out back to the alley behind the townhouse, where, sure enough, there are two covered motorcycles waiting.

“I take it you’re into bikes, then?” Connie asks as she pulls the cover off the first. It’s massive and so shiny that it looks brand new.

“I don’t know much about them,” Holtzmann admits, “but I think they’re cool as hell.”

“Would you ever get one?”

“Maybe one day,” Holtzmann says, reaching out to wrap her fingers around the handlebar as she admires the bike. “There are two seats,” she says suddenly, noticing. “Don’t tell me that _Rebecca_ …”

Connie chuckles and nods. “There’s lots you don’t know about her.”

“I’ll say,” Holtzmann says loudly.

Connie takes the cover off the second one, which is an older model, not nearly as big but just as impressive. “This one’s for special occasions,” she says. “It’s an ’88 Heritage Softail.” She nods at the one that Holtzmann’s touching. “That one’s my touring bike, the one I take to work. 2006 Screamin’ Eagle Ultra Classic,” she says proudly.

So it _is_ as new as it looks.

“What classifies as a special occasion?” Holtzmann wonders.

“Oh, you know.” Connie waves her hand. “Pride, that sort of thing.”

Holtzmann lights up. “You ride that in Pride?”

“Been with Dykes on Bikes for a little over twenty years, now.”

“ _Nice._ ”

“Every year I try and convince Rebecca to ride in Pride with me, but she refuses.”

“She goes to watch, though, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Do you?”

Holtzmann shrugs. “I went a few years back, but I didn’t have friends to go with so it wasn’t that great. Haven’t gone since.”

Connie appraises her for a few seconds. “You’re coming with us this summer.”

Holtzmann blinks, her heart stuttering at the gesture. “You…you mean it?”

“Absolutely.”

Holtzmann’s throat is tight as she nods appreciatively, suddenly feeling like she’s going to cry.

“So, um,” she manages to get out, “I have like… _so_ many ore questions about Rebecca.”

Connie laughs. “Alright.”

“First of all, how are you not _completely_ intimidated by her? She’s Dr. Rebecca Gorin! What’s it like living with the greatest mind the world has ever seen?”

Connie laughs even harder. “Dr. Rebecca Gorin is just one side of her, you know. That’s just a front she puts up. Underneath it, she’s just Rebecca, and she’s much less harsh than she seems on the surface. It’s mostly an act.”

Holtzmann swallows. Jillian sweats a little. That doesn’t sound familiar at _all_.

“Besides,” Connie continues, “she’s only really intimidating when we get talking about nuclear physics over dinner. She wins those debates every time.”

“Speaking of winning,” Holtzmann says, “how’d you convince her to get married? That must’ve taken some work.”

“Not really,” Connie says with a grin. “She always wanted to. We didn’t for a while because she didn’t feel right about getting married when it was still illegal in the rest of the country. But then we finally did back in March.”

That surprises Holtzmann.

“This past March? Wow. What changed her mind?”

“She knew it would be a political statement to do it,” Connie says. “And she loves me.”

“Rebecca has an activist side.” Holtzmann ponders that. “Who knew?”

Connie laughs. “You have no idea.”

“If Rebecca’s so political, how come she doesn’t wear a wedding ring?”

“Safety hazard,” Connie replies.

Holtzmann sighs. “Her and her _safety hazards_. Do you know how many times a day she says those words? She’s called _me_ a safety hazard.”

“You are, aren’t you?”

Holtzmann pauses. “Yeah,” she grumbles, “I guess I am.”

Connie laughs quietly as she pulls the cover back over one of the bikes. “Mind if we head in? I’d offer to take you out for a spin, but it’s freezing. Some other time?”

Holtzmann’s jaw falls open again. “Seriously?”

“’Course!” Connie heaves the cover over the second bike, too.

Holtzmann can’t help it; she throws her arms around her. Connie stands there in surprise for a second, then gives her a squeeze in return.

“You’re awesome,” Holtzmann mumbles happily.

They start to head back inside.

“Oh! I thought of another question!” Holtzmann says as they walk up the stairs.

“Another? I can see why she likes you. You’re curious.”

Holtzmann grins at that. “Yesterday, she said that when you were a grad student, you were a lot like me. Do you have any idea what she meant? What she sees in us that’s similar?”

“No clue,” Connie says. “I’d actually say you’re more like Becca than like me, but I’m sure she has her reasons. You’ll have to ask her.”

That’s the exact opposite answer she was hoping for. She doubts Rebecca will tell her.

They get inside to find that Rebecca has finished the dishes.

“Shall I drive you home?” she says.

Holtzmann isn’t quite ready for this night to end, but she doesn’t want to intrude on any more of their Christmas. Besides, she hasn’t even phoned Mark and Luke today to wish them a merry Christmas, so she should get back before Luke goes to bed.

“You don’t have to,” she says. “I can wa—”

Rebecca is already putting on her coat.

“Or not,” Holtzmann mutters.

She goes to use their bathroom before she leaves, and when she gets back, Connie hands her a few containers of neatly packed leftovers.

For some reason, this gesture above all else is the one that finally makes her eyes well up. She clears her throat and tries to cover it up by talking a lot.

“Thank you so much for dinner,” she says. “This sure beat the night I had planned for myself.”

“Our pleasure,” Rebecca says smoothly.

Connie claps her on the back. “You’re welcome back any time, alright?”

“And you are welcome to come to dinner at my apartment any time,” Holtzmann replies. “You can have your choice of three different microwavable meals and we can fight over the two chairs I own.”

The two of them exchange another look.

Yeah, maybe they see right through her self-deprecating humour. Maybe they even see right through Holtzmann to Jillian underneath. Maybe that’s why Rebecca’s always called her Jillian; she knows that Holtzmann is just as much of a persona as Dr. Rebecca Gorin is.

Strangely, that doesn’t scare Jillian as much as it should.

Holtzmann says goodbye to Connie and then gets back in Rebecca’s car, the containers of leftovers warm on her lap.

“I like your wife a lot,” she says as soon as they pull away from the curb.

There’s a pause. “I’m glad,” Rebecca says.

“Can I ask why you think we’re similar?” Holtzmann asks, feeling like it’s better to ask and get no response than not ask at all.

There’s a minute and fifteen seconds of silence. Holtzmann times it on her watch.

“It was the way you marched into my office to ask me to mentor you and wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Rebecca says. “You cut through the bullshit, excuse my language, and told me that ‘because I don’t want to’ wasn’t an acceptable reason. Even if your hypotheses about my motivations were incorrect, you still had enough conviction to persuade me. It reminded me of Connie, many years ago, also fighting for something she believed in. That’s why I agreed. The world could stand to gain more people like you two.”

Holtzmann’s eyes well up again, partly because she thinks that’s the nicest thing Rebecca’s ever said to her, and partly because she doesn’t know if she deserves it.

Is she really someone who fights hard for what she believes in?

She believed in her and Erin.

Did she ever fight for them? Did she ever fight when it counted? For something that was the most important thing in her life, something that she wanted more than anything in the known universe, did she even fight at all?

She just spent an entire semester seeing Erin once a week, and she didn’t even talk to her once.

What kind of fight is that?

The rest of the drive is silent. When they pull up to Holtzmann’s apartment, she unbuckles her seatbelt.

“Thank you for kidnapping me,” she says.

“You are very welcome.”

Holtzmann swallows, hand on the door. “Merry Christmas, Rebecca.”

Rebecca hums. “Merry Christmas. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You know it.” Holtzmann opens the door and climbs out, then shuts it behind her and gives Rebecca a little salute through the windshield. Then she walks away.

Back in her apartment, she finds the lone string of lights fallen on her bed, the useless tape still half-stuck to the wall above. She puts the containers of leftovers in her fridge and then gathers up the lights, winding them into a loop around her hand. Christmas is pretty much over anyway.

She grabs the phone and curls up in bed, unbuttoning her vest and shrugging it off as she plays her voicemails.

“ _Hey, nerd! Merry Christmas. When you call me back, you’d better have a good excuse for being out of the house right now, or I’m going to assume you’re at the lab. I’m looking at flights right now to come and drag you kicking and screaming out of there. Call me.”_

_“Merry Christmas, Jillian! It’s Mark. We’d love to talk to you, so give us a call back when you get this! Luke wants to thank you for the gift you sent. We were both floored by it. Anyway, we’ll talk to you later. Love you!”_

Holtzmann smiles and dials home. Mark picks up right away, and she spends a good hour on the phone first with him and then Luke, who won’t stop thanking her for the working miniature R2-D2 she built him. She feels a lump growing in her throat again and wishes she had been there to watch him unwrap it.

When she gets off the phone with them, she phones Abby, who also picks up after the first ring.

“I swear to God, if you were at the lab all day, I’m going to tell Mark on you.”

“Merry Christmas, Abs.”

“Were you?!”

“Yes,” Holtzmann admits. “But then Reb—Dr. Gorin took me back to her house and I had dinner with her and her wife.”

Abby’s silent for a few seconds. “What?”

“Dr. Gorin. She said she was driving me home but then took me to her place instead, where I met her wife, Connie, who—oh my God, Abby, she’s the _coolest_. Super butch, super friendly, has _two_ motorcycles—and oh my God, she’s going to take me out sometime on one of them, can you believe that?—and she rides in Pride and she said that I should go with them this year—isn’t that the nicest thing you’ve ever heard?—and she’s _so_ cool, they both are, and _shit_ , Abby, they’re so goddamn cute together—and they’re _married!_ They’re married. Dr. Gorin doesn’t wear a wedding ring because they’re a safety hazard, but they’re still _married_ and they’re so _adorable_ and they have this perfect little townhouse in the South End and they’ve got a little herb garden in their kitchen window and they just seem so _happy_ together—I’ve never seen Dr. Gorin smile this much, I swear, and she was even, like, _teasing_ Connie, which was _adorable_ —and they get in debates about nuclear physics because Connie works at Pilgrim and they’ve been together for over a decade and _God_ , they make my little gay heart so happy.”

More silence.

“Also, there was pie,” Holtzmann adds.

“Let me get this straight,” Abby says finally. “Gorin kidnapped you so you could have Christmas dinner with her motorcycle-riding wife who she has an herb garden with, and now you’re going to Pride with them?”

“First of all, I’m not letting you get _anything_ ‘straight,’ not when that was the gayest experience of my life.”

Abby sighs.

“Second of all, you forgot about the pie. But yes, that is the gist of what happened.”

“Huh,” Abby says. “Well, I’m…happy for you?”

Holtzmann hums contentedly. “I love them. I want them to adopt me.”

“Sounds like they already did.”

“Did I mention that Connie’s gonna take me out on one of her bikes?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you did.”

“They sent me home with leftovers from dinner. I almost cried.”

“Oh my God. Well…I’m glad you didn’t spend Christmas alone or working.”

“Me too,” Holtzmann says, staring up at her ceiling. “Me too.”

Later, when she’s heard all about the Yateses Christmas and said goodnight to Abby, she changes into her pajamas, cracks open the container with leftover pie in it, and crawls back into bed with a butter knife to eat it with (all her spoons are dirty now, too). She scoops up some pudding with the tip of it and licks it off, contemplating.

She thought she was doing just fine living like this. She thought she was handling solitude. She thought she didn’t need anyone else. For a while, she had slept with a lot of women to combat her loneliness, and it worked. She didn’t need anything more than that at the time, and neither did they.

She realizes now that there’s a reason she hasn’t hooked up with anyone since the hairdresser, Amber, which was almost three years ago now.

It’s because for the first time since she became Holtzmann, she had started to crave something more.

That was supposed to be the whole point of Holtzmann. She doesn’t need something more. She doesn’t need a relationship. She doesn’t need Erin.

Except that she does.

Holtzmann, Jillian, whoever she is, she wants, _needs_ something more. She wants a warm and soft body in the bed next to her when she wakes up. She wants morning kisses and _how was your day_ ’s and real meals cooked together. She wants lighthearted teasing, domestic bliss wrapped in a band around her finger, a small row of herbs on a windowsill.

She wants Erin.

She’s always wanted Erin. It’s always been her. There’s nobody else. Nobody else comes close, and she fears that nobody else will _ever_ come close.

Because what is she supposed to do if that’s the case?

Spend the rest of her life alone?

Spend the rest of her life with someone who she wishes was Erin?

What kind of a life is either of those options?

She sets the now-empty container on her milk crate nightstand and rolls over, curling up into a tight ball.

The next day, she goes into the lab, and she calls Rebecca ‘Dr. Gorin,’ but everything is different now.

She never sees Erin at MIT again.

Connie shows up at the lab one day and takes her out on the promised motorcycle ride, and Holtzmann swears she’s never felt an adrenaline rush like it. She takes Holtzmann out to lunch and they talk for so long that Rebecca mutters something about ‘stealing my grad student.’ Pretty soon, Holtzmann is going to dinner at the townhouse at least once a week.

In February, she has her oral examination to prove that she’s ready to undertake doctoral research. She jokes on the phone to Abby that an _oral_ exam should be a piece of rainbow cake for her, and Abby hangs up the phone. She passes the exam on her first attempt. Rebecca looks proud.

In June, Rebecca and Connie take her to Pride as promised, and she feels something indescribable settle into her bones. It might be hope.

In July, she goes to Battle Creek because it’s been ten years since her mom died. She walks along the highway and stands at the side of the road where it happened, stares at the memorial marker that was put up not for her mom, but for the man who hit them, who had fallen asleep at the wheel and ended his life in the same second that he ended her mom’s. She watches cars zip past her and contemplates how fleeting it all is.

In September, she moves out of her sad apartment and moves in with three roommates who she met through a friend of a coworker. A guy named Dale and his boyfriend Ahmed, and a girl named Klarke (“With a K!” she had said. “With two K’s,” Holtzmann had pointed out) who has orange hair that’s shaved at the sides. It’s a two-bedroom apartment in Jamaica Plain, only a few blocks from the bar. Holtzmann shares a room with Klarke. It’s so small that they barely have space to move around, but their beds remain pressed against opposite walls.

Another year passes. And another. Dale and Ahmed break up and Dale moves out, soon replaced by Ahmed’s new boyfriend, Gary. Klarke with two K’s moves out to travel on the road with her girlfriend’s band. Nobody else moves in for a month or so, then a person named Nic moves in. Holtzmann barely ever sees them because they’re working two jobs while going to school. They snore really loudly at night and Holtzmann has to sleep with her pillow covering her ear.

Holtzmann’s busy, too. She’s nearing the end of her doctorate and working at the bar whenever she has time and needs a break from writing her thesis.

Rebecca and Connie pester her more about what she’s going to do after this. She says she doesn’t know.

Rebecca says she should apply to work for CERN. The European Organization for Nuclear Research. Holtzmann is astounded but flattered that Rebecca thinks she’s talented enough to work there, and she makes sure to say so. Rebecca rolls her eyes and says that she’s glad she’s become less cocky over the years, but that modesty won’t get her anywhere either.

She considers applying. She thinks about Erin, and how badly she had wanted to work there. She wonders if she’s since abandoned that dream.

She decides to wait. She’s not ready to leave Boston just yet. She’s not ready to say goodbye to _more_ people who she holds so close to her heart.

She defends her thesis, and she swears she’s never felt more anxious than she does standing in that room. She keeps her eyes on Rebecca the whole time. When it’s over, she goes straight to the bar and drinks more than she should, then goes home with a cute, petite girl who’s even shorter than she is.

Sometime in the past few years, she started hooking up with women again. Some of them she even sees more than once. She went on a few real, proper dates with one girl, Jasmine, but then she got swept up in doctoral thesis hell and forgot to call her, so that went down the drain.

She’s trying, though. Hoping. For what, she’s not quite sure.

She tries to persuade the petite girl, Georgie, to stay the night. Nic moved out a few months back so she has the room to herself. Georgie smiles politely and declines the offer. Holtzmann tries not to feel disappointed as she passes out in her bed before Georgie has even shut the door behind her. When she wakes up the next morning, she feels more alone than ever and her head is pounding to boot. She throws up in the garbage can by her bed and regrets her choices.

She’s awarded her doctorate. Abby flies in to attend the ceremony, and so do Mark and Luke and Mark’s fiancée, Brenda. Rebecca and Connie throw her a small and tasteful celebratory get-together at their house after the ceremony, and she gets to introduce them to everyone else. Rebecca and Abby get talking about Abby’s own research at Yale right away. Connie charms Luke by showing him her bikes, and Mark seems to adore her, too. Brenda seems out of her element, but is perfectly pleasant. Holtzmann’s roommates and various people she knows from the bar are there, too, and a bunch of them get talking with Rebecca about queer history in Boston while Abby and Connie talk and laugh in the corner. Holtzmann watches it all unfold with a smile on her face. None of these pieces should fit together in this strange amalgamation of friends and family that she has, but somehow they do anyway. Perfectly, like they were made to.

It’s there, in that townhouse surrounded by her loved ones, that she realizes she isn’t really alone at all. Not anymore.

So why does it _still_ feel like there’s something, or someone, missing?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like Connie? Want more? YOU'RE IN LUCK! Ty has written and posted the first two parts of the [COMPLETE REBECCA AND CONNIE LOVE STORY](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11302404/chapters/25290066) of this AU and lemme tell you...it's a *bit* more of a story than they were letting on. Go give it a chance and let the Glorious Science Lesbians change your life, too. No threats this time, just a glowing recommendation to go read it because the two of them are only going to become more important from here and I love them with all my heart :D
> 
> Also! Because Ty never stops giving! Check out this incredible [moodboard for this chapter!](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/toastweasel/162251822303)
> 
> (Oh, and once again, THANK YOU TY FOR CREATING THE BEAUTIFUL, PERFECT CHARACTER OF CONNIE WILLIAMS and EXTRA THANKS for letting me work her into this fic <3)


	11. don't take it out on me now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More multimedia links in this chapter for your enjoyment. Trigger warning for another explosion.

vii.

Holtzmann spends her first year as Dr. Jillian Holtzmann in Boston, doing the exact same thing that she’s been doing for the past eight years. She picks up more shifts at the bar, and Rebecca lets her hang around the lab and work while gently hounding her to apply for an actual nuclear engineering position somewhere.

Holtzmann is a little scared at the prospect. Sure, Dr. Jillian Holtzmann is more than qualified, but she’s never had a real nuclear engineering job. Plus, the thought of working somewhere else, _with_ someone else, makes her feel sick. Connie tells her she should apply to work at Pilgrim. Holtzmann says she’ll think about it.

She’s twenty-eight. She shouldn’t be so reluctant to enter the workforce. She knows can’t bartend for the rest of her life, not when she’s sunk this many years (and dollars) into her education. Jillian Holtzmann, PhD, mixing drinks until the day she retires.

(It actually doesn’t sound like that bad of a plan, in her opinion, but Rebecca and Connie think otherwise).

So she applies. She applies to power plants and research labs and universities all over the country. All over the world. She applies at CERN, and she’s certain that she won’t even get an interview, but she applies to make Rebecca happy. Plus, she’s kind of curious and also does it just to see what happens.

She hears back from some positions on the west coast, and even though she really shouldn’t be turning away work, she declines their offered interviews. She’s not willing to move across the country, so far from everyone she loves. She’s not even sure why she applied. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. She doesn’t tell anyone about the offers she turns down. She can just imagine the lecture she’d get from Rebecca if she found out (although with Rebecca being Rebecca, Holtzmann wouldn’t be surprised if she already knows).

She keeps working at the lab. Another year passes. In April, she goes to Mark and Brenda’s wedding in Battle Creek and she’s happy for them but can’t help but feel like they officially have a family that she’s not a part of.

She buys an old motorcycle as a present for herself on her thirtieth birthday. Old in the sense that it doesn’t run, not in the sense that it’s vintage and cool. The guy she buys it off of says that he can’t in good conscience charge her for a bike that doesn’t work, but she gives him forty bucks for hauling it to Rebecca and Connie’s townhouse in the back of his truck. He actually refuses the money, but she tucks it in the cup holder when he’s looking the other direction.

When she knocks on the door of the townhouse, Connie answers. Rebecca is at the lab.

“So,” Holtzmann says, shifting her weight from foot to foot on the front steps, “I did something.”

Connie looks over the bike and says that she’s not entirely sure it’s salvageable, but she’ll try to help her fix it up anyway. The two of them bring it down to Connie’s workshop in the basement, where they have room to work on it. When Rebecca gets home, she finds the two of them down there surrounded by the gutted parts of the motorcycle, and all she does is shake her head and tell them that they better not track any grease upstairs.

From that moment on, Holtzmann is there working on the bike whenever she has free time. Most times Connie is with her, but sometimes she’s alone down there. She doesn’t know a thing about fixing motorcycles, but she’ll be damned if she isn’t going to get this hunk of metal running.

It becomes her favourite thing in the world, being down in that basement, hands covered in grease. She gets to talk Connie’s ear off, and she gets to talk about things that _aren’t_ work or lab related (which is all she ever seems to talk about with Rebecca).

It’s nice. It’s really, really nice.

One day in early January, they’re in the middle of rebuilding the engine for the third time, and Holtzmann isn’t thinking and says something about the robot she built once.

Then, of course, she freezes up thinking about that.

Connie looks up when she realizes Holtzmann has stopped talking.

“You okay, Holtz?”

It hadn’t taken long after they met for Connie to realize that Holtzmann preferred her surname to her given name, and it didn’t take long after _that_ for her to come up with the shortened nickname. Holtz likes it. She likes it a lot. It conveys familiarity, it’s unique, and most of all, it doesn’t remind her of Erin.

Holtz grunts, twirls a socket wrench between her fingers, stares at the wall.

They work quietly for about twenty minutes after that, then finally Holtz clears her throat.

“I, uh…I built the robot with someone…someone I used to know. Who I don’t like to think about.”

“What was the robot like?”

Holtz smiles at the unexpected question.

One thing she loves about Connie is that she asks questions and is always there to listen, but she never pries.

“Awesome.” She closes her eyes and pictures the Ghost Lizard. “It could fly and shoot lasers out of its mouth.”

Connie whistles.

“One time,” Holtz says, “I challenged this whiny douche to a robot fight. He was being a cocky shit about his robot and how indestructible it was.” She laughs. “Turns out, no robot is immune to a laser.”

Connie laughs, too. “Put him in his place?”

“Oh yeah. He stole my bike in retaliation, but I let it slide considering all he had left were two smoking halves of a robot.”

She smiles to herself at the memory. It was one of the better moments of that year.

“When was that?”

“High school. ’98. I—we—built it in the summer of ’93, though.” Holtz grits her teeth and tries to force away the memories. The happy memories she has of Erin are the ones that hurt the most.

She can feel Connie watching her. “You wanna call it a night?”

Holtz flexes her fingers. “Ten more minutes?”

Connie nods. They get back to work. Ten minutes turns into twenty.

“We called it the Ghost Lizard,” Holtz says absentmindedly as she works. She can’t seem to stop thinking about it.

“Interesting name,” Connie says.

“It was named after, ummm…” Holtz scratches her ear, no doubt getting grease all over it. “Some superheroes,” she finishes quietly.

“Which ones?”

“Ghost—um, Ghost Girl and Reptilian Jillian,” she manages to get out.

“Haven’t heard of ’em.”

“No,” Holtz says. “No, you wouldn’t have.”

They work for another ten minutes.

“When I was in the fourth grade,” Holtz says quietly, “this little asshole in my class started calling me Reptilian Jillian.”

Connie glances up at her, then nods like she was expecting her to say that.

Another five minutes pass.

“You know,” Holtz says, her voice a little shaky, “I think that’s probably enough for tonight.”

Connie nods again. “Alright.”

They wash up and head upstairs, where they find Rebecca home from the lab and searing fish in a pan. Holtz notes the three filets. At this point, they never have to ask if she’s staying for dinner. Without anyone asking her, Holtz sets the table. Rebecca and Connie are muttering to each other in the kitchen. She wonders if it’s about her. They always seem to be muttering about her.

When they sit down at the table, Rebecca squints at her. “You have grease on your ear.”

“I don’t mind.” Holtz reaches for the salad.

That night, she thinks about Erin.

Of course she does.

The next time Holtz works with Connie on the bike, she has a mission. She’s going to tell Connie about Erin.

She’s been alone in this for too long. She’s spent the better part of a decade dealing with the aftermath of Erin leaving, and some days it feels like it’s never going to leave her alone. She’s sick of being in her own head, thinking about the same crap she’s been thinking about for _years_. She’s sick of nobody but her knowing the lasting impact Erin’s had on her. Abby still doesn’t know that Holtz saw her again at MIT. Then there’s Rebecca, who doesn’t know anything about Erin, really. Holtz is too ashamed to tell her. She feels like Rebecca will judge her like she did when Holtz tried to drop out of that class. She’d probably say something about how Holtz shouldn’t let her life be ruined over a woman.

But Connie, Connie might understand. Connie will listen. Connie won’t judge. Connie might have solid advice on how to get over her, how to move on.

Holtz just needs to tell _someone_.

She waits until they’ve settled into their work, then, in as casual a voice as she can muster, she says, “So, there was this girl.”

Connie looks up with interest, but she doesn’t look surprised in the slightest. She’s probably been expecting this conversation to happen eventually.

Holtz swallows and continues. “I met her when I was seven. At the library. She was reading a book on algebra. She was nine.”

“Smart kid.”

Holtz hums. She can see young Erin so clearly in her mind. It’s hard to think of her as the same person who would eventually break her heart, but it’s also hard to distinguish between them. Erin has really been breaking her heart the entire time she’s known her. Not always intentionally, not even consciously, but she’s been doing it all the same.

She closes her eyes and continues. “She became my best friend. My only friend. The other kids called her Ghost Girl. They were horrible to her. And I…my mom and stepdad pulled me out of school to homeschool me. I couldn’t do anything to stop it from happening, but I still felt so guilty. Still do. I left her all alone to deal with everything.”

Connie sighs. “That’s not your fault.”

“I know.” Holtz opens her eyes and runs her tongue along her teeth. “We ended up at the same camp together when I was eleven. She was my first kiss. We said we were practicing, but I realized that I liked her, and, well…” She exhales. “We had to say goodbye to each other. I didn’t see her again until after my mom died, when I went back to school.”

Connie doesn’t flinch. She already knew about Holtz’s mom. The topic came up years ago, when Connie was asking about her family one time.

“We fit back into each others’ lives so easily,” Holtz muses, her chest growing tight. “It was like no time had passed. We had an amazing year together. It could’ve, _should’ve_ been the worst year of my life, but it wasn’t. She made me feel like I could be happy again. Like there was a reason why I hadn’t been killed in that car alongside my mom. Like there was a reason to be…glad that I _wasn’t_ killed. If not for her…I don’t know what that year would’ve gone like. I really don’t.”

She’s never told anyone that before. Not Mark, not Abby, not Erin. Especially not Erin.

She doesn’t meet Connie’s concerned eyes.

“She was the first person I ever came out to,” she continues. “We ended up at prom together alone because Abby had appendicitis. I had been…unsure…before that. About whether or not I was gay. But I saw her that night, and she was so beautiful that I wanted to cry, and I _knew._ So I told her. And then I kissed her. And she kissed me back.”

“Oh,” Connie says, clearly surprised by that.

She probably thought this was going to be one of those ‘I fell in love with my straight best friend’ stories.

And it is.

“We went to U of M together, roomed together, and for a while I thought…that we _had_ to be heading in the direction of _something._ We kissed sometimes. We cuddled. We spent all our free time together. I _knew_ that she wasn’t really…interested in anything more. But, stupidly, I let myself dream. And then when I was nineteen…” She trails off and closes her eyes again. “We started sleeping together,” she says, barely audibly, “for a few months. And we became so close that…anyone looking in on our lives would think…” She inhales. “Even Abby thought we were together. And we…were. But Erin didn’t see it like that.”

She realizes that’s the first time she’s mentioned her by name. It’s hard to say out loud. It feels like a swear word. Something taboo.

She falls quiet.

“Is that it?” Connie asks gently.

“No,” Holtz says quietly.

Connie waits.

“She left,” Holtz says. “She left me and Abby. She never called. She just left. Abandoned us. Abandoned _me._ ”

Connie makes a small noise.

“I loved her,” Holtz says, “and she left.”

And in those six words lies the gist of it all. That’s all it comes down to.

Holtz crumples. She’s vaguely aware of the sound of whatever’s in her hand clanging to the floor, and then she’s aware of Connie’s arms around her, and then she’s aware that she’s crying. She’s crying more than she’s allowed herself to cry about this in almost a decade.

“I still love her,” she manages to choke out. She’s been trying to convince herself for years that it isn’t true, but she can’t keep denying it. “I’ve tried to get over her. I’ve tried so _hard_. But I still love her. _Why_ can’t I get over her, Connie?”

Connie releases her. “Maybe you don’t want to.”

Holtz swallows and wipes her eyes with her sleeve. “Why wouldn’t I want to? You think I want to spend the rest of my life miserable and alone?”

“No, I think you want to spend the rest of your life with _Erin_. You’re not lettin’ yourself get over her because you’re still holdin’ out for her, just in case.”

Holtz crosses her arms. Connie’s too perceptive. Between her and Rebecca, it’s a miracle she’s able to keep _any_ secrets. It’s the reason the three of them can’t play card games without it descending into madness.

“She’s not coming back,” Holtz says, and she’s not really sure who she’s talking to.

“But you want her to.”

Holtz looks at the floor. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. What’s wrong with me? It’s been nine years. She’s just a _girl_. Christ.”

“Hey. Connie touches her shoulder. “She’s clearly not just a girl. You have a lot of history.”

Holtz picks up the engine’s crankshaft, turns it over in her hands just for something to do. “It’s stupid, but I always thought…that we were meant to be together. Y’know? We had this history of always coming back into each others’ lives when we needed it the most. Every time I thought it was the end, that I’d never see her again, she always managed to come back. I really always thought—” Her voice shakes. “I always thought that the universe, fate, _something_ was bringing us back together time and time again. It felt bigger than us. It was like we’d been put on this dumb planet at the same time so we could be in each others’ lives.”

“You still think that?”

Holtz continues to fiddle with the crankshaft. “I dunno. If it was true, don’t you think she’d be here? Don’t you think she would’ve talked to me when we ended up in the same class? Don’t you think she would’ve _felt the same way?_ ”

“Do you know for sure that she didn’t?”

Holtz shrugs. “How could she have left if she felt the same way as me?”

“I can think of lots of reasons,” Connie says. “Fear, shame, denial…she might not have even _realized_ it.”

Holtz considers that. She’s never thought about it like that before. She’s always just assumed that she misinterpreted everything, that Erin never cared about her at all, that she was just using her.

“Well,” she says finally, “it doesn’t matter anyway. She’s gone. I doubt I’m ever going to see her again.”

Even as she says it, she knows that’s not true.

 

Erin is Dr. Erin Gilbert now, and it feels almost as good as she always thought it would.

Throughout her doctorate, she started to gain recognition in the world of physics. She never applied to CERN again, her pride thoroughly hurt by their rejection. However, following her graduation from MIT, her thesis research on general relativity and quantum theory started to be noticed by some of the best minds in the field of theoretical particle physics.

Before she knew what was happening, she had been hired as a sessional instructor at Columbia University and was packing up her apartment in Boston and moving to New York City. She’s been there for a few months now.

It’s everything she ever wanted to happen. The career path she’s dreamt about for years.

All the choices she made, her decision to pull the plug on the book before it ever saw the light of day, her decision to turn her back on Abby and Jillian…she got the result she was looking for. She’s not Erin Gilbert, believer of the paranormal, crazy person. She’s Dr. Erin Gilbert, emerging particle physicist. Her past doesn’t haunt her anymore.

Well, it does.

But not professionally.

Now, at least, she can _almost_ convince herself that it was the right thing to do. She wouldn’t be where she is right now if she had gone through with publishing that embarrassing monstrosity.

She regrets cutting Abby and Jillian out of her life, though. Every day. There’s not a single day that goes by that she doesn’t think about them.

Especially Jillian.

She can’t let herself think about Jillian too much, though, or she finds it hard to breathe. Not talking to her when they were in the same classroom at MIT was the hardest thing she’s ever had to do, even harder than abandoning her in the first place.

She couldn’t, though.

She knew if she let herself say so much as one word to Jillian, she’d get sucked right back in like she always did. And then what? Eventually, she’d have to leave again.

And she couldn’t say goodbye to her. Not again.

She’s had enough goodbyes with Jillian to last a lifetime.

 

A few days after their conversation, Connie shows up at the bar during Holtz’s shift. She can’t help but grin when she sees her.

“Whatcha doing here?” She leans on the bar.

Connie takes a seat on one of the stools. “Came to say hi.” She looks around the room. “I haven’t been here in forever. They changed the name.”

Holtz slides from the counter and turns to get Connie a drink. “Well, I can assure you it’s better than ever,” she says over her shoulder. “You know why?”

“Because you work here?”

Holtz turns her head to wink at Connie. “Exactamundo.”

Connie laughs.

Holtz comes back and slides a beer and accompanying slice of lemon across the bar to Connie, who looks up in surprise.

“You’ve never served me before. How’d you know my order?”

Holtz scoffs. “I’ve known you for five years and I pay attention. Wheat or cream ale, that’s all you ever drink.”

Connie lifts her beer. “Well, thanks.”

Holtz salutes and goes to serve another patron. When she gets back, Connie seems distracted, watching one of the TVs in the corner.

“Where’s the wife?” Holtz says casually.

Connie looks back at her. “Home. Becca’s not much into the bar scene.”

Holtz bobs her head. That makes sense. “Hey,” she says casually, “speaking of Rebecca.”

Connie sets down her beer.

“You haven’t, uhh…” Holtz taps her fingers on the counter. “You didn’t tell her about…our conversation, did you?”

Connie hesitates for a second. “No…should I have?”

“No,” Holtz says quickly. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Well…I won’t tell her…but if she asks, I’m not going to lie. She’s my wife.”

Holtz sighs. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Why don’t you want her to know?”

Holtz shrugs. “You know Rebecca. I’d probably get a lecture about how I need to get a grip and stop letting a woman ruin my life. She did it before.”

Connie, mid-sip, slowly sets her beer down again, not taking her eyes off Holtz. “I’m sorry if she made you feel like you should be ashamed. You don’t need to be. You’re human, alright? It’s okay to hurt. That’s not a weakness.”

Holtz sets her jaw. “Even this many years later?”

“Yes.”

Holtz sighs again. “All the same, I’d rather Rebecca didn’t know about it.”

There’s a pause. “You know she lectures you from a place of love, right?”

Holtz blinks. “Really?”

Connie crosses her arms with an easy smile. “Don’t tell her I told you.”

“Huh.” Holtz rocks onto the balls of her feet and then back onto her heels, contemplating that. “Interesting.”

“We both love you, kid.”

“Huh,” Holtz repeats. A grin stretches across her face. She nods her chin at Connie’s half-finished beer. “That’s on the house.”

“Hey, don’t do that.”

“Family special,” Holtz says, playfully folding her own arms and daring Connie to challenge her.

The corners of Connie’s eyes crinkle as her smile widens. “If you insist. Don’t you dare refuse my tip, though.”

Holtz snorts. “As if. Gotta pay the rent.”

Connie chuckles and pulls out her wallet, then slides her a few bills. Holtz dips her head in gratitude.

She comes back a few times after that, always claiming that she’s just ‘saying hi.’ Holtz wonders if she’s actually just checking up on her in a momish way.

They get the bike running. The day it happens is one of the best days of Holtz’s life, and she throws her fists in the air and hoots so loudly that she gets an earful from Rebecca later that night.

She goes out for a ride with Connie to celebrate (and christen her freshly-acquired Class M Licence), and the bike runs like a dream. As she rides, the flood of adrenaline drowns out the fear that she knows she _should_ have. The warning bells in her brain try to remind her that this is way more dangerous than a car, that she could so easily be smeared across the road in an instant, but she ignores them. She’s starting to get a bit of a thrill from being reckless. She wonders if that should concern her.

In March, she’s at the bar on a particularly slow night and rearranging the liquor bottles alphabetically when there’s a familiar voice behind her.

“You kept it.”

She whirls around and falters when she sees who’s sitting there. She squints. “Amber?”

The girl laughs that merry laugh of hers, and Holtz knows that it’s her.

“You remember me?” Amber says.

Holtz cocks her head. “Of course.” How could she forget? Even if she didn’t have an impeccable memory, Amber stands out in the long line of women she’s hooked up with over the years.

Amber points. “You kept it,” she repeats. “The hair.”

Holtz absentmindedly touches the poof. “Yep. You didn’t.”

Amber’s changed her hair style. Now it’s shaved on one side, and the rest is braided tightly. She smiles. “A girl’s gotta change her hair some time, right?”

Holtz shrugs with a smile of her own, unfreezing a bit from her initial surprise at seeing Amber. “I don’t know about that.” There’s a beat. “What can I getcha?”

Amber orders a mojito like she did back when Holtz first met her, and she takes the opportunity to collect herself while she mixes it. She doesn’t know why she’s so flustered by Amber. She sees girls she hooked up with all the time. Daily, in fact.

Maybe it’s because out of all of them, Amber is the only one who she was sad she didn’t get to see again.

But here she is. Sitting at the bar in a red dress that she looks stunning in. Waiting.

Holtz finishes making the drink and sets it down in front of her.

“So,” she says as Amber takes a drink, “I haven’t seen you around in a long time.”

“I moved to New York,” Amber says. “Been there for…seven years? Damn, that’s longer than I thought.”

“Oh, wow. Whatcha doing down there?”

“Went back to school,” Amber says, taking another sip from her drink. Her lip gloss clouds the rim. “Did my undergrad at NYU, worked for a couple years, then just finished up my Master’s at Columbia.”

Holtz whistles. “In what?”

“Anthropology.”

“ _Nice._ ”

Amber smiles behind her drink. “You finish up with school?”

Holtz extends her hand. “Jillian Holtzmann, PhD.”

Amber laughs and sets down her glass to shake her hand. “The hell you still doing here, then?”

Holtz licks her lips and chuckles. “I like it. I applied for some real jobs, but I haven’t found one I wanted to take yet.”

“Oh, the privilege of having _choices,_ ” Amber teases. “Don’t tell me you’re making more cash here than you would building shit for NASA.”

“NASA doesn’t tip.” Holtz winks.

Amber’s laugh carries across the bar. Holtz props her chin in her hand, watching her with a smile.

“Man, you’re funnier than I remember.”

“I try,” Holtz says. She clears her throat. “So are you back in Boston permanently, or…”

“Just visiting.”

Holtz’s stomach twinges with disappointment. “How long you gonna be in town for?”

“Just ’til Monday.”

It’s Wednesday. Less than a week. Holtz swallows.

_Ask her out_ , her brain shouts.

Does she really want to get involved with _another_ person who’s going to leave? What’s the point?

They continue chatting, and Holtz is grateful that it’s a slow night.

It’s easy talking to Amber. She likes it. She makes her a second drink.

Eventually, it’s time for the bar to close. Holtz tells Amber that a little regretfully. Amber looks disappointed too as she pays her tab, gives a hefty tip, and grabs her purse.

“Well,” Holtz says, wringing her hands. “I’m glad you stopped by. It was nice catching up with you.”

Amber smiles and hikes her purse higher over her shoulder. “I was hoping you’d still be working here. That’s why I came.”

Holtz blinks. “Really?”

Amber nods.

They stare at each other for several long seconds.

“Guess I should get going,” Amber says after the awkward pause. “Thanks, Holtzmann. I’ll…see you around.”

She goes to turn away.

“Wait!” Holtz says quickly, two seconds away from hopping the bar to stop her from leaving.

Amber turns back hopefully.

Holtz’s mouth is suddenly dry. “Um…I…before you leave wouldyouwannagotodinner?”

Amber beams. “I’d love to.”

“Great,” Holtz says, ducking under the bar to where she’s stashed her coat. She fumbles her cell out of the pocket. She barely uses it to the point that she often wonders why she’s paying for it, but now she’s glad for it. “Could, um…”

Amber happily recites her phone number without Holtz completing the question.

She has to ask her to repeat it, because her fingers keep shaking and messing up and she wants to make sure she got it in there correctly. When she’s done, she clutches the phone in her hand.

“Thanks,” she says, a little breathlessly. “I’ll call you?”

“You better,” Amber says.

Holtz nods, probably a little like a bobblehead.

Amber gives her one last smile, then leaves.

Holtz is distracted the entire time she’s closing up, even manages to get all the way outside before realizing she forgot her coat. When she steps back inside, her boss, Taylor, is standing there holding it up with a smirk.

“Don’t start,” Holtz mutters.

“I didn’t say anything!”

Holtz can’t help but smile and shake her head as she takes her coat and slips back outside.

She spends the short walk back to her apartment thinking about Amber, her smile, her laugh.

Not wanting to bother her roommates, she hovers outside the building when she gets there, looking at Amber’s phone number on the screen of her phone with her thumb hovering over the call button.

She presses it.

It rings. Once. Twice. Then Amber picks up with a cheerful _hello?_

“Hey,” she says, smiling into the night. “It’s Jillian.”

Holtz takes Amber out. They go to the Museum of Science and she shows her all her favourite exhibits, and after they’re done there they go to Finale for desserts. It’s so easy being with her, talking with her. Holtz feels strange. Lighter. Happy. It’s foreign.

Not that she hasn’t been happy, but this is a different kind of happy.

She lets Amber call her Jillian, but she’s not Jillian. She’s still Holtz. Amber won’t know the difference.

Later, Amber kisses her right out on the street, and Holtz nearly has a heart attack thinking someone will see them, but then she remembers that not everyone needs to keep stuff like this private. Her heart thrums at the thought.

When Amber takes her by the hand and leads her to her hotel room, Holtz isn’t thinking about Erin, for once. Not one bit.

She stays the night.

When she wakes up, Amber tangles a hand in Holtz’s now-messy hair and pulls her closer, kissing her, morning breath and all. Holtz’s stomach tingles.

“You sure you have to go back to New York?” she breathes.

Amber smiles a little sadly. “Sorry, hon.”

They get breakfast together, and then meet up for dinner that night as well. They go out a few more times in the days leading up to Amber’s departure.

Holtz spends the night before her flight in her hotel room. Late into the night, she stretches out in the bed and watches Amber bustle around the room packing, completely naked.

“Can’t that wait until mooorning?” she whines.

Amber smiles over her shoulder. “Gimme five minutes.”

Holtz times it on her watch, and when the five minutes are up, she crawls off the bed and wraps her arms around Amber, turns her, presses her against the desk where she’s got her suitcase open.

“Yeah, packing can wait,” Amber says.

The next morning, when it comes time for Amber to leave for the airport, Holtz dresses begrudgingly.

Amber kisses her in the lobby, hand on her suitcase.

“If you’re ever in New York…” she says.

Holtz nods slowly, but her heart sighs. She doesn’t want _visits_. She wants permanency, for once.

Amber gives her a sad half-smile, then she’s gone.

Holtz goes to the lab.

Rebecca doesn’t ask where she’s been for the past few days. Holtz doesn’t tell her.

She doesn’t talk about her sex life anymore, not since the incident back in 2009 when Rebecca and Connie gave a little too much information about their _own_ sex life and she retaliated by getting into all the gory details of her own bar escapades. That conversation ended with an hour-long sex talk after they found out that she wasn’t using protection. She couldn’t look either of them in the eyes for _weeks_ , especially not after Connie’s ten-minute tangent about condom use with strap-ons that had her covering her ears and humming loudly enough that it was _almost_ enough to block out any mental pictures that arose from the ‘I know all this from experience’ way Connie was talking.

This isn’t just sex, though. This is something more than that, and she feels like she should tell them about it, but she can’t.

All she can do is mope around the lab and wonder why she can’t fall for someone who isn’t going anywhere.

Maybe she does it on purpose. Maybe she has a fear of commitment, or something. Or maybe she’s just an idiot.

She hooks up with a few women in the months after that, but there’s no spark with any of them. Amber was the closest she’s felt to _something_ since Erin, and now she’s gone, too.

Rebecca and Connie give her concerned looks, and Connie even asks what’s going on, but Holtz lies through her teeth and says that it’s nothing.

In June, the three of them prepare for Pride. Holtz is going to be riding her bike alongside Connie with Dykes on Bikes for the first time, and to say she’s excited would be the biggest understatement of the century. She decks out her bike with the largest pride flag she can find that won’t drag on the pavement and goes all out with her outfit. She ends up in a mesh top with her nipples taped, rainbows littering every free surface on her body.

As they’re waiting in the staging area, her phone starts vibrating in her pocket and she fishes it out, squinting at the number.

She steps away from the hubbub, wedging a finger in her ear as she answers.

“Hello?”

“Hello, am I speaking to Dr. Jillian Holtzmann?”

She glances back at the array of motorcycles, at Connie and Rebecca talking to some of their friends.

“This is she, yes.”

“Dr. Holtzmann, my name is Marceau Aubert. I am calling from the European Organization for Nuclear Research.”

Her mouth goes dry. CERN? She applied _years_ ago. What are they calling her _now_ for?

“Y-yes, hi,” she says.

“We have reviewed your application, and we would like to interview you for a fellowship, if you still wish to be considered.”

She blinks. Behind her, she hears a motorcycle rev.

“Yes,” she says quickly. “Yes, I still want to be considered.” She’s really struggling to sound professional when her brain is running in circles screaming and she’s essentially half-naked. “Thank you so much.”

He says a few more things, setting up a time to interview her over Skype, and she mouths the details to herself so she won’t forget them.

“Thank you,” she says again. “Thank you so much.”

“Good day, Dr. Holtzmann.”

The line goes dead. Her hand, still clutching her phone, drops to her side. She turns around in wonder. Connie calls her name and waves her over. They must be getting ready to start.

A little numbly, she walks over to them.

“You guys aren’t going to believe this…”

Connie’s mouth drops open when she says the news, and then she throws her arms around her. Over Connie’s shoulder, Holtz takes in the slight curl of Rebecca’s lips. She looks proud. Holtz feels like crying.

“Congratulations,” Rebecca says. “Now I’m going to go find a place to watch from. I will see you later.”

Holtz’s eyes actually do well up as she watches Rebecca cut through the crowd. She can’t believe this.

“We’re proud of you, kid,” Connie says.

“I know.” Holtz grins and blinks until her watery eyes clear. “Now let’s do this shit.”

(It is, coincidentally, the best Pride ever).

She aces her Skype interview. Rebecca and Connie let her do it in one of the quiet spare bedrooms of the townhouse, so she won’t be disturbed by her roommates. The panel that interviews her says that one of the reasons her application stood out is because of her recommendation letters. Specifically, the one from one Dr. Rebecca Gorin.

When the interview ends, she closes her laptop and walks downstairs to where Rebecca and Connie are patiently waiting on the couch.

Overcome with emotion, she doesn’t even know how to thank them. How to thank Rebecca. So, she just crawls onto the couch and wedges herself between them like a little kid and leans her head on Connie’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and she knows that both of them know everything it encompasses.

A few days later, she has a massive spread of flowers sent to the house for them. Mostly for Rebecca.

In August, Abby calls to say that she’s found a job teaching at a school in New York that Holtz has never heard of, the Kenneth P. Higgins Institute of Science.

“It’s no CERN,” she says with a laugh, “but I’m excited.”

“That’s incredible, Abs,” Holtz says.

She sends another outrageous floral display to her. Abby texts her a photo of her standing next to it, dwarfed by the enormity of it.

In September, Abby starts at her new job and calls with frequent updates about the world of teaching. Apparently, she’s been stuck teaching Intro to Physics. Holtz laughs at all the stories. She wonders, perhaps a bit rudely, why Abby, with her PhD from Yale, couldn’t get a job at a more prestigious school. Maybe she doesn’t want to.

CERN tells Holtz that she’s got the fellowship. It will be a two-year contract. Two years in Switzerland starting in January. It feels surreal.

Rebecca and Connie take her out to dinner to celebrate, and she tries not to think about what it’s going to be like when she has to say goodbye to them. She can’t think about it. If she thinks about it, she’s going to end up pulling out of the CERN fellowship or something. And she knows they would kill her if she did that.

She starts spending more time at the lab to get her fill of it before she has to leave.

In early October, she’s there working one night. It’s quiet, not as busy as it usually is. Only her, Rebecca, and a couple of grad students. They’re working in the corner when Rebecca ducks out of the lab on a phone call. She sounds upset. Holtz is distracted wondering what she could be upset about. Is she talking to Connie?

The grad students have the radio on. Rebecca is more lenient about music than she used to be. _[Skyfall](https://youtu.be/7HKoqNJtMTQ) _ is playing.

_“This is the end. I’ve drowned and dreamt this moment.”_

Holtz hums along absentmindedly, not really paying attention to what she’s doing. So far, music in the early 2010s hasn’t been too horrible to her.

“ _Swept away, I’m stolen. Let the sky fall. When it crumbles, we will stand tall.”_

Suddenly, she’s got goosebumps, an uneasy feeling spreading through her. Then it worsens. And worsens.

“ _Face it all together.”_

Something is wrong.

Not with Rebecca. Something is wrong _here._

“We need to get out of here,” she starts to say, only she doesn’t get it out because at that moment there’s a flash of blue light and the grad students scream and she throws herself down to the ground and rolls and covers her head as there’s an explosion that hurts her ears and drowns out Adele’s crooning and then there’s an intense heat like she’s never experienced, not even when she was trapped in a burning car, and she realizes that this is where she’s going to die, right here in this lab that she considers a home, and as she fades out to blackness the last thing she thinks is _I’m so sorry, Rebecca_.

 

Erin is eating dinner alone in her apartment with the TV playing low, just for background noise. She’s not really paying attention until a few words catch her attention.

“ _—explosion at the nuclear research lab at MIT—”_

She drops her fork and stumbles out of her chair and over to the couch, grabbing for the remote and turning up the news. No. _No._

She stands there, fingers clenched around the remote, and watches the screen until the stretchers and ambulances and people in radiation suits start to blur and she realizes her cheeks are wet.

No.

Jillian can’t be there. She _can’t_ be.

Erin sinks to the floor.

She can’t be.

 


	12. (‘cause I blame it all on myself)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for a depressive episode, suicidal thoughts, self-destructive behavior (but not intentional self-harm), and an involuntary hospitalization. Hopefully that's enough of a disclaimer and warning that this chapter does get dark.

For the second time in her life, Jillian wakes up in the hospital.

This time, she immediately wishes she hadn’t.

She doesn’t know what to do with that feeling, so she closes her eyes and sleeps.

She doesn’t know how long she sleeps for.

When she opens her eyes again, Rebecca is standing at the foot of the bed with her arms crossed. Her expression doesn’t change when she sees that Jillian is awake.

Jillian can’t even meet her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she manages to croak.

Rebecca doesn’t say anything.

Then she turns and walks away.

She doesn’t see Rebecca again. Nurses and doctors come and go. Mark’s there. He holds her hand like he did after the car accident.

“The grad students,” she tries to ask.

His eyes cloud. He avoids the question.

Jillian isn’t as sure as she was about her mom.

Luke stops in for a day in all his teenaged-boy-awkwardness, then he has to go back to Michigan. He can’t miss any more school than that, not during his senior year.

Connie comes.

Jillian almost wants to ask her to leave. She doesn’t deserve her presence.

She doesn’t meet Connie’s eyes either.

“It was my fault, wasn’t it,” Jillian says quietly. Connie will tell it to her straight.

“It was an accident,” Connie says, but she sounds unsure.

Jillian knows she was at least partially to blame. It had to be her, somehow. She’s the reckless one. She’s the safety hazard. She’s the one who wasn’t paying attention.

“I’m sorry,” Jillian says.

“Why?”

“I could’ve killed your wife,” Jillian says, her chest tight.

Connie stares at her, steady and unblinking. “You could’ve killed _yourself_.”

Jillian looks down at her hands, the IV line, the bandages wrapped around covering the radiation burns. They go all the way up her arms.

She doesn’t say that she wishes she _had_ , but she’s thinking it.

“The grad students,” she says.

Connie will tell her.

Connie sighs. “One of them is in a coma. Dale Spence.”

Dale. Dale who brought Jillian chips from the vending machine whenever he got some for himself. Dale who’s only twenty-three.

Her stomach twists. “And Joanna?”

There’s a pause. “They thought maybe…” She clears her throat. “Doesn’t look good. She was the closest.”

Jillian feels like she’s going to throw up. She closes her eyes again.

After a few minutes, Connie says, “Guess I’ll let you sleep.”

Then she hears her leave.

Abby comes on the weekend.

“Holtzmann…”

“Jillian,” she corrects quietly. She can’t be Holtz right now.

Abby digests that, nods. “Jillian.”

“It was my fault,” Jillian says.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah I do. Of course it’s my fault. I wasn’t paying attention. I don’t care enough about safety. I was reckless and stupid and now a girl is dead because of me and someone else might never wake up.”

Abby sits down, takes her hand, squeezes it gently.

“I should’ve died instead of her,” Jillian says.

Abby drops her hand and glares. “Don’t you _dare_.”

“It’s true,” Jillian mutters.

“No it is _not_. It’s horrible and tragic what happened, but your life does _not_ have any less value than hers.”

“What about Rebecca’s?”

“What about her? She wasn’t there.”

“She could’ve been,” Jillian says. “She was there a few minutes before. She could’ve been right there, and she could be dead right now, and it would be _my fault_.”

“She wasn’t, though, and she’s not.”

She can hear what Abby’s saying, but she’s not listening to her. “I could’ve killed her. I could’ve killed her. She’s never going to want to see me again. Neither is Connie.”

“Jillian you need to get a _grip_ right now before I slap some sense into you. _Enough_. Rebecca Gorin is not dead, neither are you, and dwelling on what _could_ have happened is not going to do you any good.”

She’s quiet for a few seconds. “Joanna is dead.”

Abby sighs. “Yes. Yes, she is. Because of a horrible accident.”

“It was my fault.”

“No it wasn’t.”

“Yes it was.”

“Enough,” Abby says again.

Jillian grits her teeth, closes her eyes, hopes that Abby will leave like everyone else in her life.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Abby warns.

Jillian lets herself sleep anyway.

 

Erin watches every single news clip she can get a hold of. She reads every single article.

 _One casualty_ , they all say.

She reads through every obituary out of Boston, out of Michigan.

Eventually she finds the one for Joanna Meyers that says she lost her life in the MIT accident.

Joanna.

Joanna, not Jillian.

Erin curls up on her couch, shaking.

Maybe she wasn’t there at all. Maybe she’s not even in Boston anymore.

She calls up every hospital in Boston anyway until she finds out that Massachusetts General does have a Jillian Holtzmann admitted. They won’t tell her anything about her condition.

She’s alive, though.

She’s alive.

Erin has flowers delivered to her room. No card. She doesn’t know why, but she does it. She has to.

 

Jillian doesn’t question who sent her flowers. There are a lot of flowers in her room. She doesn’t even like flowers, really.

Connie comes back. Rebecca doesn’t.

“She hates me,” Jillian says, staring at the ceiling.

“She’s furious,” Connie confirms, “but she’s worried about you.”

She’s furious. Good. Jillian deserves that. She wouldn’t blame Rebecca if she never spoke to her again.

She stays in the hospital for over a month to monitor her for symptoms of radiation poisoning. Mark stays in Boston the whole time. Abby has to go back to New York. Connie comes a few times a week. Rebecca does not.

Mark brings her stuff to do, books and puzzles and blank notebooks with pencils, but she ignores it all. She doesn’t deserve distractions. She deserves to sit here and think about what she did.

_You could have really injured someone, young lady._

She did.

_Maybe next time you’ll consider the consequences._

She didn’t.

_Think about your actions._

She is.

 

Erin almost buys a ticket to Boston.

She doesn’t.

 

Jillian is released from the hospital.

She goes back to her apartment and tells her roommates that she’s moving out. She doesn’t deserve roommates. She deserves to be alone and miserable.

She moves to another studio apartment near her old one in Fenway. She leaves her TV and chairs with her roommates and sets up her mattress on the floor again. That’s all.

It’s only her. It’s only ever going to be her.

The first thing she does is call up the bar and tell them that she’s quitting.

The second thing she does is call CERN.

Her voice shakes as she tells them that she’s a safety hazard who blew up her lab and that she doesn’t want to endanger anyone else. She pulls out of the fellowship. They sound disappointed. They shouldn’t.

Then, with everything taken care of, she wraps herself in every blanket she owns and curls up on her mattress and doesn’t move.

She loses all concept of time.

She leaves the bed to eat once in a while, every day or so, and to use the bathroom, and she showers when it gets to the point that her pillowcase has oil stains, but other than that, she stays there.

Abby phones frequently. Jillian answers just often enough to keep her from flying in and breaking down the door, but their conversations are brief. She lies and says she’s eating, moving, leaving. She doesn’t tell Abby that she quit her job.

She tells her that she backed out of CERN, though, and she can hear how disappointed she is even though she never says it.

Time passes. She can tell because the sun rises and sets and rises and sets. She has no idea what day of the week it is, what month, even.

She leaves the house one day to buy more food after she spends two days eating a package of very stale crackers that she found in the back of one of the cupboards (which may have been left behind by the previous tenant), and she sees Christmas decorations in the shops that she passes. December, then.

She returns home, crams her freezer with frozen meals and her cupboards with ramen. She’s thirty-one years old and eating like she’s a college student.

She returns to bed.

People call. She answers less and less. She doesn’t answer any calls at all from Connie.

One day, possibly early evening and possibly the middle of the night (it’s hard to tell at this time of year with how early the sun sets), her buzzer rings. She doesn’t move. Who would be visiting? Someone probably hit the wrong number.

There’s another buzz.

She closes her eyes and puts her pillow over her head to muffle it.

Silence. At last.

A few minutes later, there’s a knock on the door.

She removes the pillow, rolls over in bed, and squints. It has to be someone at the wrong apartment. It has to be. The only person who has this address is Mark.

Another knock.

“Wrong apartment,” she shouts.

She puts the pillow back over her head. She can hear voices, but she can’t make out what they’re saying and doesn’t care to find out.

Then she hears the door bang open and catch on the chain lock. She flies upright, the pillow falling, her heart starting to race. Burglars? Shit. _Shit_.

“Who’s there? I’m armed,” she calls as she fumbles for the Swiss Army knife resting on the floor by the bed.

“Jillian, come and open the goddamn door.”

She freezes.

Rebecca.

It’s Rebecca.

Rebecca, who she hasn’t seen since that first time in the hospital, months ago.

She doesn’t move, doesn’t even dare to breathe. Maybe she’ll leave.

After a long pause, there’s a loud sigh. “If you don’t come unlock this, I’ll do it myself.”

She still doesn’t move.

“Fine,” Rebecca snaps. “Hand me the string.”

“Got it,” comes Connie’s voice. She’s here, too?

Jillian cranes her head to try and see the door, but she can’t make it out through the dark. There’s the sound of the door clicking and the chain sliding, then clanging down.

The door springs open and in they come. The light turns on.

Rebecca strides across the short room, stops at the end of the bed, crosses her arms. Jillian shrinks away from the glare. Connie arrives behind her a few seconds later after closing the door again.

“You broke into my apartment,” Holtz says quietly.

“You wouldn’t let us in,” Rebecca says shortly. “I had no choice.”

“I don’t know that that’s true,” Jillian says.

Rebecca angles her head and narrows her eyes in such a way that Jillian legitimately contemplates hiding under the covers.

“You look like crap, kid,” Connie says. “When was the last time you showered?”

Jillian touches her head numbly. “I don’t know,” she says, and it’s the truth.

Rebecca wrinkles her nose in obvious distaste. “This apartment reeks.”

Jillian slumps down. She’s too tired for this. “Did you break in just to yell at me?” She tries to say that sarcastically, but it falls flat when her voice shakes. She scratches her neck and looks in the opposite direction, willing herself not to cry. She wouldn’t be upset if they _did_ just come to yell. She deserves it.

Connie looks up from where she’s peering into the (mostly empty) garbage can. “No.” She lets the lid fall shut and comes to sit on the edge of the mattress. “We came to bust you out.”

Jillian stares at her blankly. “Why?”

Connie stares back with just as much astonishment. “Because it’s Christmas Eve and you’ve been ignorin’ our calls for weeks?”

Jillian blinks. Christmas Eve?

“Jesus,” Connie says, “you didn’t know that? When was the last time you left this apartment?”

Jillian opens her mouth, closes it again. What’s she supposed to say? She doesn’t have an answer for that, and they’ll know if she lies.

“Pack your things,” Rebecca says curtly as she looks around the room at the bare walls, bare floor, bare everything.

“No,” Jillian says.

Rebecca raises an eyebrow. “This isn’t a negotiation.”

Jillian crosses her arms. “You can’t make me go anywhere,” she says childishly.

“Yeah, I think you’ll find that we can,” Connie says.

Rebecca nods. “Either you can pack or we will do it for you.”

“And then what?” Jillian challenges. “You’ll physically drag me out of here?”

It only takes one look at their faces to know that’s _exactly_ what they’ll do.

“Your choice,” Connie says.

Jillian stares them down for a few more seconds, then flops back down and rolls over to face the other direction.

“Suit yourself. Becca?”

“Go find her toiletries. I’ll deal with her clothes.”

Jillian listens to the sound of Connie’s boots crossing the room towards the bathroom. Rebecca circles the bed and bends in front of the cardboard box that houses Jillian’s clothes. She starts to pick through it, lifting out garments and draping them over her arm.

“Not those pants,” Jillian murmurs. “There’s a hole in the ass.”

Rebecca looks sharply over her shoulder. “If you have an opinion, then you can do it yourself.”

Jillian clutches her pillow to her chest. “Fine. Sorry. The asshole pants are fine.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes and turns back to the box, dropping the offending pants back in a second later and swapping them out for a better pair.

Jillian’s so exhausted and defeated that she doesn’t even feel an ounce of shame when Rebecca starts collecting several pairs of underwear in her arms, an image that, on a good day, would at _least_ make her laugh.

Connie gets back from the bathroom with a bag of scrounged toiletries. “Couldn’t find a toothbrush.”

They both look at Jillian.

“It fell in the toilet,” she mutters, not meeting either of their eyes.

“When?” Connie says.

She picks at one of the loosening loops of her knitted blanket. “Month ago.”

Connie turns several shades greener and Rebecca pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Alright,” Rebecca says a few seconds later when she seems to have recovered. “Time to get up.”

“No,” Jillian says.

They exchange a look.

“You get her left; I’ll get her right,” Connie says.

Jillian scrambles upright. “Alright, alright. Jesus, I’m getting up.”

She climbs off the mattress and rubs her bare arm with a shiver. The world outside her blanket nest is cold and unforgiving.

“Come on, then,” Rebecca says, motioning for her to follow.

“Can’t I change?” Jillian looks down at the old, oversized shirt that was her mom’s and the ratty pajama pants that she’s wearing.

“And dirty a set of clean clothes? No. You can change after you’ve showered at our house,” Rebecca says, and motions for her to follow again.

Jillian shoves on her boots and zips up her winter coat, then shuts off the lights and locks the door. She stays a few steps behind them as they make their way down the hall.

“I can’t believe you broke into my apartment,” she mutters. “Why do you even know how to pick locks?”

“It comes in handy,” Rebecca replies, not turning.

“And how’d you know where I live, anyway?” Jillian says, getting irritated now. How dare they go to this much trouble for her. She’s not worth it.

“Texted Abby,” Connie says, “and she got it out of your stepdad.”

Jillian curses under her breath.

“They’re worried about you, too,” Connie adds.

“I’m fine,” Jillian says through gritted teeth.

Connie looks over her shoulder with an expression that clearly says _yeah, right_.

She follows them down to the car where they put her stuff in the back seat with her. She’s silent for the short drive to the townhouse. When they pull up and park, she doesn’t move.

Connie opens her door and leans down. “You gettin’ out, or do I have to drag you?”

Jillian huffs and undoes her seatbelt.

Within a minute of stepping inside the townhouse, Jillian has been given a stack of towels and her clothes and toiletries and is being shoved in the direction of the guest bathroom.

“Spare toothbrush is in the medicine cabinet,” Connie says. “Keep it.”

“I don’t want—”

“Rebecca is three seconds away from taking you out back and hosing you down.”

“It’s freezing out there. She wouldn’t.”

Connie gives her a look.

Yeah. Yeah, she would.

“Fine,” she grumbles, closing the bathroom door behind her.

She showers for longer than she normally would, partially because it’s been a long time and they’re right, she’s filthy, and partly because she’s prolonging rejoining them. When she can no longer put it off any more, she gets out and wraps herself in one of the guest towels and dries off her skin, bright red from how hot she had the water. She combs through her knotted hair, not flinching as the comb catches and pulls, and leaves it hanging down. She finds the aforementioned toothbrush and brushes her teeth, twice.

She stares at herself naked in the still-foggy mirror and counts the burns and scars that cover her. The one on her forehead, a decade and a half old now, is still the largest scar she carries.

One of the bulbs in the sconce above the mirror goes out with a pop. She sighs.

She dresses from the stack of clothes Rebecca picked out, and then, with nothing left to stall with, she leaves the bathroom. She makes her way downstairs, her wet hair soaking the shoulders of her shirt, and finds Rebecca and Connie in the kitchen cooking.

“I’m no longer disgusting,” she announces.

Rebecca glances back, looks her up and down, and nods. “Set the table.”

Jillian absentmindedly does as she’s told. She thinks about the fact that apparently Connie and Rebecca have been talking to Abby and wonders if they know she dropped CERN. They must. She feels ill.

Connie sets down a dish of something steaming and cheesy on the table and picks up Jillian’s plate.

“I’m not that hungry,” she says quickly.

Connie ignores her and scoops a huge helping of what Jillian recognizes as an eggplant bake that she’s had here before. One of her favourites, which is probably why they made it, but her stomach turns when Connie sets the plate in front of her.

Tears prick at her eyes. They’re being too nice to her. She doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t deserve any of it. She holds out hope that maybe this dinner is all a set-up to ream her out.

She’s so zoned out imagining the kinds of things that they might yell at her that she doesn’t notice that they’ve started eating until Connie taps her shoulder.

“You’re not leavin’ the table ’til you eat at least half that,” she says.

Jillian sulks. “I’m not a child.”

“Could have fooled us,” Rebecca says dryly.

“You’re all skin and bones,” Connie says, more concern in her voice than Rebecca’s. “You need to take care of yourself.”

Jillian stares at the plate in front of her, cuts off a tiny piece of eggplant, lets it sit on her tongue. She chews until it becomes mealy mush. They’re both watching her. She winces and swallows, nearly gagging as it goes down.

“Oh, Holtz,” Connie says.

Her eyes well up as she sets the fork and knife back down. Shame burns through her. She used to be good at holding herself together in front of them. What happened?

She closes her eyes and feels the tears spill over.

Connie touches her arm and she flinches away, eyes flying open.

“No, don’t—don’t touch me.”

“Sorry,” Connie says right away. “What do you need?”

“What do I _need?_ ” she repeats. “I need—I need you to stop being so _nice_ to me. I need you to treat me like I deserve to be treated. I need you to _yell_ at me, or _something.”_

It’s becoming harder and harder to breathe. She’s heading into a full-on meltdown, and she doesn’t know how to stop it.

“Why would we yell at you?” Connie asks.

“Because I deserve it!” It comes out almost as a shriek. “Because I’m a gigantic fuckup and reckless piece of garbage who endangered everyone’s lives. Who endangered _your_ life.” She points at Rebecca. “I _killed_ someone and it could have been you. Why can’t _anyone_ treat me like I deserve to be treated? I should be thrown in _prison_ for the rest of my fucking life. I don’t deserve _this_.” She waves her hands wildly at the table, at them.

“For God’s sake, Jillian, get a hold of yourself,” Rebecca snaps.

Jillian is standing. She’s not sure when she stood up. She grips the edge of the table.

“I should leave.”

“No,” Connie says, at the same time that Rebecca says, “Absolutely not.”

She grits her teeth and sits back down. “Why are you doing this? I don’t deserve this,” she repeats.

“You do not get to decide what you deserve,” Rebecca says sharply. “The defendant does not decide their sentence.”

“I didn’t even get a trial,” Jillian mutters. Not metaphorically, and not literally either. Nobody seems to be acknowledging the fact that the explosion was her fault. The police told her that no charges against anyone will be laid because the cause of the explosion is still under review. She knows it was her, though. She just has to wait until they reach that conclusion, too.

The table is silent.

“You can’t do this to yourself ’cause you think it’s what you ‘deserve,’” Connie says finally, putting the word in air quotations.

“We will not tolerate this self-martyrdom any longer,” Rebecca adds. “Now eat your eggplant.”

Jillian swipes at her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt and sniffles pathetically. She takes another bite of eggplant and this one goes down a bit easier.

She still wants them to yell at her.

“I quit CERN,” she says quietly.

“Yes,” Rebecca says, “we’re well aware. A damn shame, considering how hard you worked to get in. The best career opportunity of your life, thrown down the drain for nothing.” The calm, icy, measured way she says this stings even worse than shouting.

They’re quiet for the rest of the meal except for the sound of cutlery scraping on plates. Jillian manages to get down a third of her plate before she feels sick.

After she’s helped them clean up the dishes, she tries to leave again, but they tell her she’s staying the night. She curls up sullenly on the armchair in the corner of the living room and they flick through channels on the TV until they land on a Christmas movie that normally she’d be all over. She stares out the window instead of watching, doesn’t listen to either the movie or Rebecca and Connie’s conversation. It’s obvious they aren’t watching either, that they only put it on for her.

They put her up in one of the guest bedrooms. It’s not her first time staying the night—she stayed a few times after late-night games of spades or the like, always happy and warm and full of love (and a little too much alcohol). It’s never been like this.

She changes into her pajamas from earlier, which someone laundered while they were eating dinner. They smell like the laundry detergent that she’s come to associate with the two of them.

In the guest bathroom, she brushes her teeth again and ties her hair up into a loose bun, then starts rifling through the medicine cabinet.

“Whatcha lookin’ for?”

Jillian freezes with her hands still in the cabinet and turns to see Connie standing in the open doorframe.

“Um,” she says, swallowing, “just…medicine.”

Connie stares her down. “You sick?”

She swallows again. “No. Just looking for…something to knock me out.”

Connie doesn’t say anything.

Jillian looks at the floor. “Look, I never do this. I’m just worried that…I might try to escape and go home tonight. If I’m awake.”

There’s a pause, and then Connie sighs. “There’s some Benadryl in there. Just take the suggested dose, alright? No more.”

Jillian nods.

Connie goes to leave, but then turns back, hesitating a little before speaking. “Hey, you know that there’s no shame in getting help, right? You ever considered it? You’re going through a lot right now. You don’t have to suffer through it as a form of self-punishment.”

Once again, Connie is too perceptive. Jillian did consider seeing someone, especially during that first month when she desperately wished that she had been the one to lose her life in the explosion, but then she decided she deserved to feel this pain. She hasn’t tried to escape it, not once, not through temporary fixes or permanent ones either. She knows she won’t. She’s not a danger to herself, so what’s the point of seeing a therapist?

She never has before. After her mom died, Mark pushed her to be around people by sending her to school, and then Erin was there to bring Jillian back around, make her feel like living again. She made the nightmares go away, made her feel like she could be happy. _Made_ her happy. After Erin left and she spiralled again, Abby was there to pull her from the deep end, to remind her that life goes on. She forced her act like a human, even on the days she didn’t feel like one at all.

Now, though, she’s alone. She’s alone on purpose. She did this to herself. Rebecca and Connie are trying to rescue her, but for once she doesn’t have the energy to grab on to the offered life preserver, nor does she want to. She’ll pretend she doesn’t see it, and if she drowns, that’s her fault.

Connie is still waiting for a response.

Jillian clears her throat. “I know. Umm…I’ll consider it.”

Connie nods. “Good. We love you, kid. That hasn’t changed. Okay?”

_You shouldn’t._

“Okay.”

“Go to bed. You’d better still be here tomorrow morning.”

“I will be,” Jillian mutters.

Connie smiles. “Goodnight, then. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Jillian mumbles back absentmindedly as she resumes her search through the medicine cabinet.

Connie slips out of the door. Jillian finds the Benadryl in the back and takes a bit more than the suggested dose. Not enough to do anything bad, just enough to knock her out for sure. She returns it to the cabinet and goes back to the guest bedroom, where she crawls underneath the covers of the bed and curls into a ball.

It doesn’t take long after that for the Benadryl to kick in and a wave of drowsiness to overwhelm her, and she surrenders to it.

The next morning, she wakes up and is immediately disoriented before she remembers where she is. She can hear Rebecca and Connie talking downstairs, muffled. She wonders how long she could stay up here before they come to check on her and make sure she’s still around. Maybe they already have, poked their heads in when she was still out cold. She wouldn’t put it past them.

With a sigh, she rolls out of the bed and pads to the guest bath. When she’s done there, she silently makes her way downstairs. She peeks into the living room to find it empty. There’s a small pile of presents stacked there. Her stomach flips. They better not have gotten her anything.

She can hear them laughing in the kitchen. She creeps down the hall and hovers just outside the doorframe, where she can peer in but they can’t see her. The two of them are in there cooking breakfast in all their adorable domestic glory, Rebecca in her ankle-length navy robe and Connie with a shirt and pair of plaid pajama pants, reading glasses taking up residence on her face.

The first time Jillian saw them like this, a cute display of morning kisses and softened personalities and messy hair, she felt like she was encroaching on something personal and intimate she shouldn’t be seeing.

This time, the sight of them is a cruel reminder of what she could’ve taken away from Connie.

She feels like she’s going to throw up.

She backs up from the kitchen without them seeing her, all the way to the foyer. She bends and shoves her boots on her feet. As quietly as she can, she unlocks the front door, then slips out and closes it silently behind her. She jogs down the steps and takes off in a brisk walk, putting distance between her and the townhouse. She didn’t get her coat out of the closet. The cold air stings on her bare arms. Maybe she’ll get hypothermia.

She makes it two blocks before a car slows beside her. She glances at it just as the window rolls down. She catches a glimpse of Rebecca’s dry stare. She’s still wearing her robe.

“Hey,” Jillian says casually, “I was just on my way home.”

“Get in the car, Jillian.”

“You from the mafia?” Jillian says, still walking. Rebecca drives along beside her. “I don’t know nothin’.”

“Jillian.”

“I’m not getting in the car.”

“Either you get in the car or I get out and put you in the car myself.”

Jillian shoots another glance at her. “You’re in your robe. You wouldn’t.”

Rebecca stops, shifts into park, and reaches for her seatbelt. Jillian swears under her breath and contemplates for a brief second whether or not Rebecca could outrun her if she sprinted. Then she remembers she’s in a car and would probably go so far as to nearly run her over if it meant stopping her. Not that she’d mind.

She grits her teeth and gets in the car.

She’s silent as Rebecca does a screeching U-turn and they drive back to the townhouse. When they get there and Jillian trudges inside, Connie is waiting with two steaming mugs of coffee, which she hands to each of them. Jillian grumbles a thank you and takes a sip. It’s prepared exactly as she takes it. Of course it is. Perfect amount of peanut butter and everything.

“Sleep well?” Connie gives Jillian a very particular look that says she’s really asking about something else.

Jillian sighs and takes another sip of coffee. “Yes,” she says stiffly.

Rebecca tsks. So Connie told her about the Benadryl, then. Great.

They eat breakfast, and Rebecca and Connie chat like she didn’t just break out of their house half an hour prior, like this is a perfectly normal morning. Jillian picks at her English muffin and poached egg.

After breakfast, they exchange gifts, and she finds out that they _did_ get her presents. She feels sick again. Connie got her a new pair of riding chaps even though she hasn’t been on the bike in months. She doesn’t even have it. It’s been parked in the alley behind the townhouse where it won’t be stolen.

She unwraps Rebecca’s gift next, a few books.

“If you’re going to sit around your apartment all day, you may as well enrich your mind,” she says.

Jillian thanks her, even though she knows the books (and the chaps, for that matter) will likely collect dust in her apartment.

“I didn’t get you guys anything,” she says flatly.

“S’alright,” Connie says. “How ’bout you don’t make another escape attempt, and that can be our present?”

Jillian balls up her fists, watches the muscles in her arms rippling underneath her burn scars. “Okay.”

They tell her she’s staying another night, and then she’s free to leave. They spend the rest of Christmas day trying to make it worth her while, offering her all sorts of food and even breaking out a deck of cards, but her heart isn’t in any of it. She tries to look grateful, but she doesn’t know if she’s pulling it off even slightly. Probably not.

She helps them prepare Christmas dinner, and she can’t help but think about her first Christmas dinner with them, six years ago, and how happy of a day that was. She’d thought, at the time, that her sad Christmas Eve alone and subsequent kidnapping was rock bottom.

Turns out she had been still skimming the surface, keeping her head above water.

She’d like to hope that this right here is rock bottom, but somehow she feels like there’s still lower depths to reach.

She takes more Benadryl that night.

She wakes up the next morning, showers, and manages to choke down enough breakfast that they seem content. Then they tell her that she’s welcome to stay, but also welcome to leave. She says, shakily, that she’s ready to leave. Rebecca drives her home with a large stack of leftovers from both the Christmas dinner and the eggplant bake, even half a pie that Jillian was barely able to touch. When they pull up in front her the apartment building, Jillian climbs out of the car and balances the Tupperware tower in her arms.

“Thank you for the past two days,” she says. “I’m…sorry. For everything.”

“Please answer our calls,” Rebecca says. “I’d hate to have to break into your apartment again.”

Jillian rolls her eyes, almost feeling like Holtz again. “You enjoyed it.”

Rebecca sighs. “Close the door and go inside. It’s cold out there.”

Jillian nods. “Thanks again,” she says, then shuts the car door and walks away.

Inside her apartment, she sets all the containers inside her empty fridge, and then she crawls back in bed.

She never eats the leftovers, and only touches the containers again when they start to rot.

She starts answering their calls every once in a while, often enough that they won’t break in again.

Her funds start to run out, so in January she goes to her old bar and asks if they’d consider hiring her back for some part-time work. Taylor welcomes her back with open arms.

She only takes a couple shifts a week at first, and she’s off her game, but at least she’s out of the apartment.

She has just enough energy to be Holtz again, at least during her shifts.

Connie shows up one night and doesn’t look at all surprised to see her back behind the bar. In fact, the way she walks in all determined makes Holtz wonder if she came because she _knew_ she’d be here. She doesn’t know how Connie would’ve even known that she’s started working again, let alone known her exact shifts, but somehow she’s not surprised. Lesbian gossip chain, probably. A lot of Dykes on Bikes members frequent the bar.

“You’re coming over after your shift’s over,” Connie says after Holtz has silently slid a beer across the bar.

“Why?” Holtz says, twisting a towel in her hands just for something to do.

“I have a project for us.”

Holtz is apprehensive. Another bike, maybe? She doesn’t know if she wants a part in this mystery project, but at this point she knows better than to say no.

Later, she stares at a stack of wood in the basement of the townhouse, then looks at Connie in confusion.

“We’re building you a bed frame,” Connie says.

“I don’t need a bed frame,” she says immediately.

“Too bad. I already hauled all this down here, so we’re making you one anyway.”

Holtz complains, but they get to work. Connie also informs her that they’re going to be scoping out garage sales over the next few months to find her some furniture. They’re already looking at buying her a couch, too.

“I can buy my own couch,” Holtz mutters, even though she doesn’t exactly have money to throw around after her several months of unemployment.

“But you _won’t_ buy your own couch,” Connie says. “Else you would already have one.”

Holtz can’t exactly argue with that logic.

They build the bed frame. It doesn’t look that bad when they’re done with it. They move it to her apartment and set it up.

They buy her a loveseat from Ikea, find her a kitchen table and chairs that even match, a coffee table, a nightstand to replace her milk crate.

After the loveseat is delivered, she sits on it alone and cries about how nice they’re being. She can’t handle this. She doesn’t know how to tell them to cut it out when they keep persevering despite her protests.

In June, they try to take her to Pride but she gets out of it by flying back to Michigan. She spends the whole month there.

Luke has his high school graduation. She wonders how the hell he got so old. She takes photos of him in his cap and gown with Mark and Brenda on either side of him, and she tries not to resent the fact that her mom should be standing there, not Brenda. Her mom would’ve been proud of Luke.

She wonders if she’d be so depressed right now if her mom was still alive. Probably not. She may be able to isolate herself from everyone else, but she never would’ve been able to cut her mom out. She wonders if she ever would’ve left Michigan, even. Maybe she never would’ve gone to MIT. Never have met Rebecca and Connie. Never have exploded a lab.

Or maybe she would’ve anyway, and it just would’ve been a different lab. A different dead girl.

She wonders what her mom would’ve thought about Erin. She probably would’ve told her about their relationship, whatever it was.

She gets distracted zoning out as she thinks about _that_ , and misses Mark calling her name and beckoning her over for photos as well. Brenda takes a photo of her with Luke and Mark, then with just Luke. They don’t take a photo with all four of them, and she knows it’s because she’s not part of their family.

Later, after she’s gone back to Boston, they email her the photos, and she realizes just how thin she looks. No wonder Rebecca and Connie are always trying to feed her.

It’s been so long since she’s seen a photo of herself. She almost doesn’t recognize herself. She’s not exactly sure who’s in the photos—Holtz or Jillian.

She picks up a few more shifts a week at the bar, even though she’d rather be holed up in her apartment. Rebecca and Connie continue to treat her better than she deserves to be treated. She just wishes they would come to their senses and realize what she did and leave her alone.

The guilt eats away at her. She has nightmares about the explosion, about Joanna’s corpse, pale in a casket, about _Rebecca’s_ corpse, pale in a casket.

One night, she has a dream that she’s paddling a kayak through a lake at the edge of a familiar camp, twelve-year-old Erin’s laugh echoing behind her, and then the laughter turns to screams and before she can process that, her paddle lifts out of the water, coated in red, and she realizes that it’s not water at all, but blood, and a body that she recognizes as Rebecca’s floats to the surface in front of her, and she screams, and then she’s in the office of the director, surrounded by police, and Connie’s there and she’s crying and shouting, and one of the officers handcuffs her and leads her to the parking lot, and the entire camp is there and they watch her be pushed into the back of the cruiser and the last thing she sees before they close the door is adult Erin, standing in front of them all with her face twisted in pain.

Then she wakes up.

She’s drenched in sweat and shaking. She can’t breathe. She might be hyperventilating.

She fumbles for her phone and dials Rebecca and Connie, not even taking into account that it’s the middle of the night. It rings a few times, then Rebecca picks up.

“Jillian?” she says, sounding surprisingly alert for the time of night.

“I’m sorry,” she cries into the phone. “I’m so sorry.”

Then before Rebecca can reply, she thumbs the end-call button and fully melts down. She ignores her phone when it vibrates again immediately. And again.

It doesn’t take long after that for there to be an incessant pounding on her door. She stumbles out of bed and over to clumsily unlock the door and finds her building manager, Rebecca, Connie, and a police officer standing on the other side, and the sight makes her cry harder.

“Finally,” she says, “finally.” She holds her wrists out. “Take me. Take me away. Lock me up. Lock me up.”

“Ma’am?” the officer says. “I’m not here to arrest you.”

“What? What? You have to. What do you mean? You have to.” She’s sounding more and more hysterical by the second.

The officer says something into her walkie but she doesn’t hear it. Connie and Rebecca are saying stuff too, but all she hears is static.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she keeps repeating, backing away from the three of them. She shouldn’t be anywhere near them.

The officer follows her as she backs up, one hand outstretched in front like she’s a feral animal who could attack them at any moment. Good. She’s dangerous.

She hits the wall and then sinks to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees. The officer crouches in front of her, says some more things that she doesn’t hear.

Two more people show up. EMTs, she realizes. The officer moves out of the way and the EMTs crouch in front of her and speak to her in low, calm voices. She doesn’t take in what they say. Behind them, the police officer is talking to Rebecca and Connie. Rebecca looks angry. Connie keeps glancing worriedly over at them.

The EMTs keep saying things in a tone of voice that indicates they’re asking questions, but she still can’t hear any of it.

Her vision is starting to go a little spotty. It’s hard to keep her eyes open. She can see the police officer and Rebecca bent over her nightstand, holding something.

The next time she blinks, she doesn’t open her eyes again.

When she finally wakes up, she’s in a hospital. There’s an IV in her hand and a woman who she doesn’t know sitting in the corner, watching her.

“Good morning, Jillian,” she says cheerfully. “Do you know where you are?”

“Hospital,” she grunts, mouth dry. Why the hell is she in the hospital? Was she in another accident? Her head is swampy. Why can’t she remember anything?

“Do you know why?”

She shakes her head.

The woman explains that she was admitted because there was concern that she would hurt herself following an incident the previous night.

She blinks. An incident? Hurt herself?

Fuzzy memories trickle in. A police officer. Rebecca and Connie.

The woman calls a few people in. A nurse buzzes around and checks her vitals. A doctor stands beside the bed and asks her questions. Some of them make sense, and some of them don’t.

“When you were admitted last night, you had a large dose of doxylamine succinate in your system, the sedative found in NyQuil. Did you take that medication with the intent to harm yourself?”

NyQuil?

She’s been taking it before bed lately to try and sleep through the nightmares.

The nightmares.

Flashes are starting to come back to her of a bloody lake. Oh God.

She’d phoned Rebecca. At 3:00am. Cried into the phone. Hung up.

Then what?

She has a flash of the NyQuil package sitting on her bedside table.

She had just wanted to fall back asleep and not dream.

She had taken more, a lot more, not considering the fact that she had already taken more than the suggested dose a few hours prior.

“I…no,” she answers honestly, closing her eyes as more memories from the previous night flood in.

The doctor asks more questions. She answers.

Later, a psychologist comes into the room and does a full psychiatric evaluation, and that’s when she realizes how serious this is.

She’s so humiliated. What must Rebecca and Connie think?

She tries to give as honest of a mental health history as she can, telling him about her depressive episodes over the years, not holding back the details of this one, of how long it’s lasted. She swears up and down that she’s never hurt herself or made any sort of plan, and she can’t tell if everyone believes her or not.

The doctor says he’s putting her on medication. She doesn’t object.

While she’s there, they don’t let her have any visitors. It’s a closed ward, and that’s their policy. They do tell her that her aunt has been by, which confuses her until she realizes it must be Rebecca or Connie. Probably Connie.

She worries about whether or not they’ve called Mark. She feels sick at the thought of him coming all the way from Battle Creek over this.

The hospital keeps her the full three days that they’re legally allowed to, and then they release her on recommendation for outpatient therapy.

Rebecca and Connie are waiting to drive her home, and it looks like neither of them have been sleeping much the past few days. There’s no sign of Mark anywhere, and she sends a message of gratitude into the universe for that.

Connie looks grim, but relieved when she sees her. “Don’t scare us like that again.”

“I’m sorry,” she says weakly. She doesn’t know what else to say. She’s ashamed that she worried them for nothing, for what was mostly a misunderstanding.

Well, not the part where she had a brief psychotic episode. That wasn’t a misunderstanding. The NyQuil was, though.

When they get her back to her apartment, she’s surprised to see someone inside.

“Abby?”

Abby turns from where she’s cooking something on the stove. “Hey, roomie. I get to babysit you for the next few weeks.” Her voice wavers as she says it. She comes and pulls Jillian into a tight hug.

She feels like crying. She hasn’t seen Abby in so long.

Rebecca and Connie leave them be. Abby talks her ear off for the rest of the day, clearly trying to distract her. She enlists her help in cooking. Jillian suddenly has her appetite back, maybe from the brief hospital stint. She eats without putting up a fight.

Abby tells her that she wouldn’t let Rebecca and Connie contact Mark, so he still doesn’t know.

“I figured you’d want to decide for yourself if you wanted to tell him,” Abby says.

Jillian hugs her again, beyond grateful that Abby knows her so well. She decides to wait until this has all blown over to tell him, if at all. He doesn’t need the stress.

She starts therapy. Her psychologist says that in addition to the depression she’s been struggling with, it’s likely that she’s dealing with PTSD symptoms following the explosion. They talk through all of her feelings about the explosion and the guilt that she has. They talk about the car accident and losing her mom, and the way that trauma manifested itself. They talk about Erin. They come up with coping strategies.

Abby stays. Abby makes sure she’s eating and taking her meds (even though she never has to be reminded). Abby answers the phone when Rebecca and Connie call and tells them that Jillian can’t talk to them yet. Abby is a godsend.

Jillian knows Abby’s going to have to go back to New York eventually, though.

One night in early August, they’re watching TV and Jillian says that she wishes she didn’t have to go.

“You know,” Abby says carefully, muting the TV, “I was just told that I can hire a research assistant at Higgins, if I want.”

“Researching what?”

Abby hesitates. “Ghosts.”

Jillian almost laughs, then realizes she’s serious. “Wait, seriously? You’re being paid to research the paranormal?” Suddenly, it makes perfect sense that Abby’s working at an unknown school over the ivy league institution she could probably be working at.

“Not _exactly_ ,” Abby says. “I’m sort of just…doing it. But they’re funding me.” She shakes her head. “The point is, the job is yours if you want it.”

Jillian blinks. “What are you saying? Me? Move to New York?”

“Yes,” Abby says. “I know your whole life is here, but…I also know that you’ve been struggling. Maybe…starting fresh would be good for you.”

But what about Rebecca and Connie? How could she leave them?

No. No, that’s selfish. They don’t need her. They’d be fine. Better off, probably, without her around to give them heart attacks in the middle of the night, to worry about. They won’t feel like they have to feed her, drag her out of her apartment, do all the things that she’s never wanted them to do anyway.

Maybe this could be her chance to stop it all once and for all. She could get away from this city and all that it represents, away from this apartment, away from MIT, away from Rebecca and Connie and their incessant niceness that she doesn’t deserve.

Start over.

She swallows. “Can I think about it?”

“Of course,” Abby says. “I only really need to know by September. And you’re welcome to move in with me, so you don’t have to worry about trying to find a place. Take your time.”

Jillian thinks about it. She thinks about it some more. She thinks for all of August, as she slowly starts to gain weight again, smile more, feel a bit like a person. Feel a bit like Holtz again.

She thinks about being around Abby again. She thinks about studying the paranormal again. She thinks about working in a lab again, in a _school_ again, and not as a student this time.

She thinks about starting fresh in a new city. She thinks about Amber the hairstylist-turned-anthropologist and wonders if she still lives in New York, if she’s still single, if she’d still be interested in pursuing something _more_ with her. Something permanent. She thinks about whether or not she even _wants_ to inflict the disaster that is Dr. Jillian Holtzmann on another person in that way.

There’s a lot of pros and cons to consider.

There’s also Rebecca and Connie to consider.

Staying, continuing to put them through this, would be selfish, she decides. She’s adding nothing to their lives. They’ll be happier, less stressed, better off, without her around.

That realization makes the decision very, very easy to make.

(And very, very hard to execute).

In the last week of August, as Abby’s getting ready to head back, she bites back any lingering apprehension and tells her that she’s going to do it.

She’s going to move to New York.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Sorry


	13. I know it's hard to hear it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now seems like...a fantastic time to put a disclaimer on this that holtzbert is in fact endgame. Just so you know. Uhhh...good luck?

viii.

Holtz moves to New York.

She sells the furniture that Connie and Rebecca helped her get and then mails them the money she makes because she would feel guilty keeping it, and she already feels awful enough about leaving. She also sends a letter that explains where she’s going and why, and says that she hopes they can forgive her for leaving.

She moves into Abby’s microscopic apartment and takes up residence on her futon.

Abby takes her to the Kenneth P. Higgins Institute and shows Holtz her lab— _their_ lab. Holtz freezes up outside the door and doesn’t know if she can even set foot inside, but Abby gently coaxes her in.

It’s surprisingly nice. Big. Quiet. It takes her a few days before she touches anything, and when she finally does she’s careful, hesitant, like she was back in her undergrad when she had no idea what she was doing. When Abby is gone teaching a class, she works a bit more than she does when she’s there because she’s less afraid of making a catastrophic mistake.

She likes it, but she misses Boston.

She misses Rebecca and Connie.

They call, but she ignores them until the voicemail storage on her phone is full. She knows she should answer, call back, but she can’t. If she does talk to them, she’ll want to go right back to Boston.

She wonders if this is what Erin felt like.

She finds a new psychologist and continues going to therapy. They talk more about Erin and all her complicated feelings. They talk about how she feels less lonely now that she’s living with Abby, but that there’s still a different type of loneliness.

Now that she lives in New York, she thinks more about Amber and her instruction to get in contact if she was ever around.

She makes a Facebook account and searches through pages and pages of Amber Colemans until she finds _her_ Amber Coleman. She flits through her profile pictures. She reads her About page, the small text that says _single_ next to _relationship status_. She makes a note of the name of the hair salon that she works at, Googles it, memorizes the address.

She could use a hair cut.

And it’s always nice to catch up with an old friend.

As she makes her way there, she tries to convince herself that she’ll be fine if Amber isn’t interested in her anymore. She tries not to let herself get her hopes up. She doesn’t want to start imagining what it would be like to be with her, only to eventually have her heart broken again.

She finds the place easily, takes a deep breath, and steps inside.

She sees her immediately, across the room in front of one of the stations, using electric clippers on the man sitting in front of her. Her hair is the same as it was the last time Holtz saw her.

A free stylist wanders over. “Hi honey, can I help you? Lookin’ for a cut?”

“Yeah,” Holtz says, “but I’d like to wait for Amber, if that’s alright.”

At the sound of her voice, Amber looks over finally and seems to do a double take.

“Oh shit,” she says, a massive grin overtaking her face. “Hold on a second,” she says to the man in her chair, turning off the clippers and setting them down.

She bounds across the room and throws her arms around Holtz, rocking her back and forth for a second before stepping back to appraise her. “The hell are you doing here?”

Holtz smiles back. “Moved here. Surprise.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Amber says, swatting her arm.

“Thought this would be more fun.”

Amber shakes her head with a laugh. “Look at you. If you let me finish up with John over there, I’ll get all that fixed up for you.” She gestures at Holtz’s head.

“I’ll be waiting,” Holtz says, softening her smile.

Amber beams for a few more seconds, then goes back to her station while Holtz takes a seat in the waiting area. She pretends to flip through one of the magazines there, but she’s really studying Amber. She forgot how cute she is, how warm. Her heart thrums.

Amber finishes up with the man and then she’s pulling Holtz out of the chair and tugging her by her hand across the room to her station. Once Holtz is seated, Amber rests her hands on her shoulders and grins at her in the mirror.

“How’ve you been?”

Holtz shrugs. “Been better.”

Amber lifts one hand to lightly drum her fingers on the top of Holtz’s head. “You get bored of the style?”

Holtz hasn’t done the poof since…the poof. “No, it’s just too long,” she lies.

Amber tsks like she knows it’s not the truth. “I’ve got you,” she says, her hands coming to the knotted bun at the base of Holtz’s neck. “Can I?”

Holtz nods her assent, and Amber carefully loosens the elastic and removes it, handing it to Holtz for safekeeping. Amber runs her fingers through the waves as they settle around her shoulders.

“It is long,” Amber muses. “When’s the last time you got it cut?”

Holtz thinks. It was before the explosion, that’s for sure. “September?” she guesses.

Amber blinks. “A year? Damn, girl, no wonder it’s such a mess.”

Holtz laughs and settles back into the seat as Amber selects a comb with a wry smile.

They make easy conversation as Amber works. Holtz finds out that she’s back at Columbia doing her doctorate in sociocultural anthropology.

“What the hell are you doing here, then?” Holtz says with a wink.

Amber laughs. “A girl’s gotta pay the bills.”

Holtz forgot how easy it is to talk to Amber. The banter, the light flirting, the _familiarity_ of it all gives her a warm feeling. She realizes that she’s probably going to be crushed if Amber isn’t interested in anything more than friendship, but she ignores it and lets herself be sucked in deeper.

Once Amber is done cutting and blow-drying and it’s back to a more respectable length, she lifts a section of hair in her hand. “Let’s see if I can remember how to do this,” she says with a smile.

To her credit, she manages to replicate the style remarkably well for not having done it in almost a decade.

When she’s done, Holtz admires the fact that for the first time in close to a year, she looks like her old self. She looks like she could be okay again.

She gets out of the chair and walks with Amber to the front counter. She can tell the other stylists are trying to look like they’re not listening, even though they are.

She pays and then shoves her hands in her pockets.

“So…” she says, not really sure how to ask the question.

Amber looks over her shoulder at the other stylists, then back at Holtz. “You know, I could probably take a break right now if you wanna go grab coffee or something.”

Holtz nods eagerly. “I’d like that.”

Amber smiles and unties her smock.

They walk down to a café at the end of the block and end up managing to snag two armchairs in the corner.

“So, you live here now,” Amber says, seconds after they’ve sat down with their drinks.

Holtz blows on her coffee and nods.

“I’m assumin’ you didn’t just stop by for a haircut,” Amber continues, in a tone that could almost be construed as hopeful.

Holtz takes a sip from her mug and sets it down on the low table between them. “That depends.”

“On what?” Amber sips from her own mug.

“On how you’d reply if I asked you out,” Holtz says. “On a date.”

Amber laughs lightly. “Aren’t we on a date right now?”

Holtz cocks her head, the corner of her mouth ticking up. “Are we?”

“I think so,” Amber teases.

Holtz picks up her coffee again and smirks over the rim of the mug. “In that case, would you like to go to dinner sometime?”

“Oh, Jillian,” Amber says with a smile. “Thought you’d never ask.”

They go out to dinner. And then they go out to dinner again. And then lunch. Then dinner again.

It takes them until after the third dinner to sleep together again, because there’s a sort of understanding between them that whatever is happening between them now is different from what they had before. The night they finally do, Amber’s roommate is conveniently on vacation in California, so they have the apartment to themselves. Holtz stays the night, falls asleep in Amber’s bed with the blue teddy bear still in the corner.

When she wakes up, she snuggles closer to Amber, who smiles sleepily and lifts her head to kiss her. Holtz hums and idly runs her fingertips up and down Amber’s bare spine.

“I like you like this,” Amber mumbles.

“Like what? Naked?”

Amber laughs quietly. “That too. Naw, you just seem happy.”

Holtz sighs contentedly. “I am.”

Later, after a lazy morning cooking and eating breakfast in their underwear, Holtz heads back to her own apartment. She gets inside to find Abby sitting at the kitchen table.

“Morning, Abby,” she says cheerfully, whistling as she opens the fridge in search of an energy drink. She didn’t get a whole lot of sleep the night before and the coffee she had at Amber’s isn’t quite kicking it. “No lab today?”

“It’s Saturday,” Abby says, one eyebrow raised as Holtz takes a seat across from her and pops the tab on her drink.

“Huh,” says Holtz, “so it is.”

Abby stares at her for a few seconds. “So,” she says, “are you ever going to tell me about this girlfriend of yours, or do I have to drag it out of you?”

Holtz chokes on her drink and feels her face and chest heat up. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Abby rolls her eyes. “Right.”

“I don’t!”

“Sure. Of course you don’t.”

Holtz sinks down in her chair. “She’s just...a girl.”

“Right.”

“Who I’ve been on a few dates with.”

“Yep.”

“And slept with a few…dozen times.”

Abby drops her forehead on the table.

“Huh,” Holtz says, staring at the wall, “I think I have a girlfriend.”

Without lifting her head, Abby says, “No, _really?”_

Holtz takes a sip of her drink and settles back in her chair with a grin.

It takes a few more dates, a few more nights with Amber, but Holtz eventually asks her if they are in fact a couple. Amber laughs and confirms that they’re dating.

 _Dating_.

Holtz marvels over the word.

She has a girlfriend.

A beautiful, intelligent, funny, warm, kind-hearted girlfriend, who kisses her in public and brings her lunch at the lab and plays with her hair and makes her feel _happy_ , happier than she’s felt in years.

She wants to phone Rebecca and Connie, tell them all about her incredible girlfriend, but she can’t.

“Just call them,” Abby says one day when they’re in the lab.

“I can’t,” Holtz says. “I don’t deserve to have them in my life. That’s why I moved.”

Abby sighs loudly. “Then call them to tell _them_ that so they’ll stop phoning me to ask about you twice a week.”

Holtz looks up from her work. “They call you?”

“Or text, yeah.”

Her brow furrows as she considers that. “Why?”

“Because they love you and want to make sure you’re okay, dingus.”

“What do you tell them?” Holtz says. “You didn’t tell them about Amber, did you?”

“I told them you’re doing fine, that’s it. I don’t think they believe me, but that’s not my problem.”

“Huh.”

She still doesn’t call them. She plays through the messages that they’ve left for her and then deletes them one by one so her box is empty again.

One day, she wakes up and there’s a pamphlet stuck on the fridge. She slides it out from under the magnet and is reading it when Abby gets out of the bathroom.

“You heard of that?” Abby says.

“Yeah,” Holtz says. “Didn’t know there was a conference, though.”

The pamphlet is for oSTEM, a society for queer people in STEM fields. She was a member of a chapter back in Boston.

“It’s right here in the city, too. At Google HQ. There’s still time to register,” Abby says. “You should go. I’ll come with you, if you want.”

Holtz shrugs. “Sure. I should start getting involved again.”

Abby smiles. “Great. I’ll get us registered.”

October blurs by with a series of long days at the lab and long nights with Amber. The 26th shows up before she knows it, and soon she and Abby are sitting in the audience of the opening keynote, which is led by a product manager from Google who’s also the board president of a queer youth advocacy organization.

When the keynote address is done, they get up to make their way to the first panel they’re attending on research opportunities. Abby seems distracted, texting someone frantically on her phone, and Holtz is about to ask her what’s going on when she sees two recognizable figures crossing the room and freezes.

It’s Rebecca and Connie.

They reach them before she has a chance to come up with an escape plan, and then Connie has enveloped her in a tight hug.

“Wow!” Abby says loudly. “What are you guys doing here?”

Connie releases Holtz just in time for her to catch the look Rebecca shoots Abby.

“She’s not an idiot, Abigail, but I admire the dedication.” Rebecca looks Holtz up and down and gives a nod. “Jillian.”

“You planned this?” Holtz says. “Abby!”

Abby shrugs. “You wouldn’t call them.”

Holtz crosses her arms.

“She still looks thin,” Rebecca says. “You told us she was eating.”

“She _is_ ,” Abby says. “She’s eating at least two meals a day, and it’s not all radioactive garbage. I swear. She’s always been bony. You should’ve seen her in high school.”

“I’m standing right here,” Holtz says.

“Try and get her up to three a day,” Connie says, surveying Holtz as well.

“Hello? Am I invisible?” Holtz says, waving her arms around. “I’m thirty-two years old, here. Stop talking about me like I’m a toddler.”

They all turn to look at her at the same moment with such intensity that she can only blink.

“Jesus, okay, I guess I have _three_ moms now.”

Abby snorts. “Right. That’s _totally_ new.”

Connie smiles. “We’re just worried about you, kid—”

“I’m thirty-two,” she repeats.

“—but you’re looking good. Better. You been doing okay?”

“Um,” she says, rubbing her arm. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m doing okay.”

Abby elbows her, mouths _tell them_.

“I, uh, I have a girlfriend,” she says quietly.

Connie beams. “No shit?” She claps her on the back. “Way to go! What’s her name?”

“Amber,” Holtz says.

They start walking again in the direction of the panel, which Rebecca and Connie were either planning on going to or have decided they’re tagging along to.

“How old is she? What does she do?” Connie asks as they walk.

“She’ll be thirty in November,” Holtz says. “She’s working part time as a hairstylist right now while she works on her doctorate.”

“In what?” Rebecca asks, now in her wheelhouse of academia.

“Sociocultural anthropology,” Holtz says proudly. “At Columbia.”

“How long have you been together?”

“About a month and a half,” Holtz says. “We had a bit of history before that, though. I actually met her back in 2004, in Boston. Then she moved here and I didn’t see her again until last year.”

“She pretty?” Connie says with a knowing smile.

“Unfairly pretty, yeah.”

“And she’s good to you?”

Holtz nods. “The best.”

The two of them look to Abby for confirmation.

“She is,” she agrees. “She even manages to get this one out of the lab.”

Even Rebecca raises her eyebrow, clearly impressed by that.

Holtz smiles a little despite herself.

“Well,” Rebecca says, “congratulations to you both.”

After the panel, they all go get lunch together and then they split up and head to different ones with the promise to reconvene later in the day. As soon as they’re alone, Holtz turns on Abby.

“What the hell?”

Abby crosses her arms. “You’re being a baby about this whole thing. It’s about time you grow a pair of ovaries and get past whatever guilt complex has been causing you to push them away for the past year.”

“I don’t need to grow a pair of _anything_ ,” Holtz says. “Except maybe wings,” she muses as an afterthought. “I could use a good pair of wings.”

Abby rolls her eyes and ignores her. “Haven’t you figured out by now that they’ve forgiven you?”

“I know they have,” Holtz says gruffly. “That’s not the point. I don’t _want_ them to forgive me.”

“Well tough shit, because they did anyway. And they came all the way here from Boston just to love you in person, so you’re just going to have to accept it.”

Holtz opens her mouth and closes it again. What’s she supposed to say to _that?_

“Fine,” she says, “but that doesn’t mean that I’ll like it.”

“Yeah, alright, drama queen. Now come on, I don’t want to miss ‘Science at the Federal Level.’”

Holtz pretends to yawn.

They meet up with Rebecca and Connie several times over the rest of the conference, and Holtz slowly starts to let a bit of her guard down.

Abby is right. She needs to get over this guilt complex of hers.

She made a mistake. A big mistake. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve happiness, forgiveness, love.

On Sunday night, after the conference has closed, she suggests that they all go out to dinner.

“And,” she says, clearing her throat, “I’d like to invite Amber to join us, if that’s okay.”

Connie beams.

They go out to dinner. Holtz has just enough time to warn Amber that Rebecca might be cold and aloof, but it turns out to be for nothing. Rebecca is reserved, definitely, but perfectly amicable. Connie gets talking with Amber right away in her Connie way, asking her a slew of questions about her research and her life and family and a billion other things. Holtz can tell that she likes her.

Meanwhile Holtz talks with Rebecca about Boston and MIT and the lab, which has finally reopened after the damage was repaired.

“It’s quieter without you there.” Rebecca takes a sip of wine. “Which is good for my headaches.”

The way she says it, Holtz can tell that she misses having her there. She swallows. “I can send you a mixtape to play in the lab, if you want. Only 80’s, obviously. I think I left my boombox there anyway. Did it survive?”

“It did,” Rebecca confirms.

“Worth the headaches,” Holtz says.

Rebecca nods once. “Indeed.”

As they eat, Holtz has her arm outstretched on the back of Amber’s chair, and Amber has her hand resting on Holtz’s thigh under the table. Connie keeps looking at them proudly.

By the end of the meal, after their dessert plates have been wiped clean, Amber’s head is leaning on Holtz’s shoulder and her hand has migrated to her lower back as Holtz tells a wild story about the time a snake got loose in the MIT lab. Rebecca is sitting with her fingers pressed to her temples as Holtz gets more and more into the story, gesturing with her hands. Rebecca occasionally interjects to correct a detail (or exaggeration), but mostly she just looks like she finds this both embarrassing and endearing. Abby is in hysterics.

The night winds down. Connie and Rebecca pay for everyone’s meals, which is supremely nice of them. The rest of them pitch in tip money and thank them profusely. As they tumble out into the brisk October air, Connie pulls Amber in for a hug.

“So nice to meet you, Amber,” she says.

Amber laughs. “Likewise.”

“Take care of her, please,” Rebecca says.

Amber looks sideways at Holtz with a smile and interlaces their fingers, giving her hand a squeeze. She leans in to kiss her cheek, then straightens up and looks back at Rebecca. “Don’t worry. I plan to.”

Even Rebecca smiles.

Rebecca and Connie go back to Boston. Holtz calls them the next day. And the day after that. And then the day after that as well.

“This isn’t quite what we meant,” Rebecca says dryly in lieu of a greeting when she answers the third call.

“I’m making up for lost time,” Holtz says.

“ _Don’t complain about her calling, Becca. This is progress,_ ” Connie says in the background.

“Yeah, Becca,” Holtz says. “This is _progress_.”

Rebecca sighs, but Holtz can hear the smile in her voice when she says, “Thank you for calling, then.”

She tells them about everything new that happens with Amber, any developments in their relationship, and she tells them all about the lab, too. She leaves out the particulars of what her and Abby are researching. She’s not sure how they’d react. Maybe they’d think that she’s finally lost her mind for good.

They tell her that they’re proud of her. For everything. She almost cries.

They stop asking her about what she’s eating. They know she’s taking care of herself better than she has in years, and even on the days she slips up a bit, gets distracted and forgets a meal, she’s got Abby and Amber around to make up the difference.

In late November, Amber asks her if she’s planning on going back to Boston for Christmas.

Holtz considers that. If she goes back for Christmas, maybe she could make up for last year’s disaster. She could spend a proper Christmas with Rebecca and Connie, a happy one. She could get them gifts, personal, thoughtful gifts that rival the ones they forced on her last year. They could be like a family.

“I might, yeah,” Holtz says. “Why? What are your plans?”

Amber smiles and walks her fingertips up Holtz’s arm, cuddles closer to her in bed. “I was gonna go home.”

“Home like Boston?” Holtz asks.

“Yeah. Thought maybe if you were plannin’ on it too, maybe you could…”

“I could...” Holtz repeats with a smile, then kisses her nose. “I could what?”

“Maybe meet my parents?”

Holtz stills. Swallows. “Really?”

“I know we’ve only been dating a couple months and that’s pretty big, but—”

“I’d love to,” Holtz says.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Holtz says, kissing her properly. She smiles when she pulls back. “Seems only fair. You met Rebecca and Connie, and they’re pretty much _my_ most important family, so…”

Amber grins. “So we’re going to Boston for Christmas?”

“We’re going to Boston for Christmas,” she confirms.

She phones Rebecca and Connie to tell them the news, and they say that the two of them are more than welcome to stay at their place for a few nights. They plan to spend several days leading up to Christmas there, including Christmas Eve, and then go to Amber’s parents’ house for Christmas itself. They book their bus tickets.

December comes, and Holtz realizes it’s much warmer of a month when you have someone to share it with.

Abby flies home to Battle Creek to spend the holiday with her parents. Holtz and Amber bus to Boston. Rebecca picks them up.

“You have a lovely home, Dr. Gorin,” Amber says as she admires the artwork.

“Rebecca.”

Amber looks at Rebecca with a smile. “Rebecca.”

Rebecca nods.

Holtz elbows Amber excitedly and stage whispers, “That means she likes you.”

Rebecca cooks a big Italian meal for dinner, showing off her heritage a bit. As Holtz and Amber set the table, Rebecca lifts a bottle of wine in Amber’s direction.

“Do you drink, Amber?”

“I’d love a glass. Thank you,” Amber says.

Rebecca smiles. “Look at that. Finally some balance around here.”

Holtz cracks up just as Connie arrives at the table and hands her a beer. Holtz clinks their glasses together and winks at Connie.

Dinner is full of warm, comfortable chatter, and Holtz marvels over how perfectly Amber fits into all of this. She gets along with Rebecca and Connie like she’s known them for years. It feels right. She can tell that the two of them adore Amber, and the thought makes her heart feel all fuzzy.

They spend the next few days together. Rebecca works at the lab most days that they’re there. Holtz bites the bullet one day and goes back for the first time since the explosion. She brings Amber along for moral support, and her girlfriend holds her hand tight and fills the trip there with casual chatter to distract her.

Stepping into the lab isn’t as hard as she thought it was. She’s prepared to use some of the techniques that her therapists have taught her to avoid slipping into a panic attack at the memories, but she barely has to. She’s mostly just nostalgic as she wanders around the place that she used to consider a second home.

Rebecca shows off some of the prototypes they’ve been working on since Holtz left. Holtz points out a few suggestions she has, and Rebecca nods and jots them down.

When they’re about to head out and leave her to work in peace, Rebecca stops Holtz and hands her a sealed, unmarked envelope.

“Open that later,” she instructs.

Holtz tilts her head and wonders what it could be.

That night, when they’re getting ready for bed, Holtz breaks open the seal on the envelope and slides out the stack of papers. Amber sits on her side of the bed and reads her book, giving her privacy.

It takes her a few seconds to take in what she’s reading. It’s the official police report that details the in-depth investigation into the cause of the explosion and everything that they found out.

Rebecca has carefully underlined two sentences out of the 20+ page document.

_After extensive investigation into the explosion, the cause has been attributed to a faulty core that malfunctioned. Experts agree that the incident was entirely accidental and could not have been prevented._

She starts crying.

Her entire body sags as she lets go of the grief and guilt that she’s been carrying for the past year.

It wasn’t her fault.

Amber pulls her into an embrace, not asking what’s going on, just letting her cry.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Holtz chokes out.

Amber makes a noise, seeming to understand at once what she means and all that it signifies.

She sleeps better that night than she has in over a year.

The next day is Christmas Eve. After breakfast, Holtz pulls Rebecca aside.

“I just wanted to say thanks for giving me that report,” she says, hands shoved in her pockets.

Rebecca presses her lips together and nods. “It was the least I could do. I am sorry to say that I didn’t do much to aid you this year. In fact, I fear I worsened your mental state with my distance, something I deeply regret.”

Holtz blinks at the sudden, uncharacteristic emotional honesty coming from Rebecca. “You didn’t make it worse. I was going to spiral whether or not you were around. ’Sides, you did plenty to help. I just ignored it because I thought I didn’t—”

“Deserve it,” Rebecca finishes dryly. “I am exceedingly grateful that you’ve gotten over that particular fallacy.”

The corner of Holtz’s mouth twitches up at that. “Me too.”

Rebecca hums. “I’m heading to the lab, now. Would you care to accompany me?”

Holtz’s hint of a smile stretches into the real deal. “As long as we don’t get back too late. My girlfriend will miss me.”

Rebecca smiles. “As will my wife, I suppose.”

Holtz grins.

They spend all day at the lab, and it feels like old times. Rebecca even lets her play music from the boombox that she left behind that apparently nobody’s had the heart to get rid of.

“I’ve missed this,” Holtz says.

“Giving me migraines?” Rebecca says wryly.

“Oh come on,” Holtz says, pointing a screwdriver at her. “Don’t tell me you haven’t missed me dancing around the lab and accidentally catching things on fire.”

Rebecca shakes her head, but smiles nonetheless. “I have.”

They lock up and leave around 5:00pm, and get back to the house to find Connie and Amber preparing dinner.

“Honey, I’m hoooome,” Holtz calls jokingly.

The kitchen is really too small for the four of them, but that doesn’t stop Holtz from going to kiss Amber hello.

Her girlfriend smiles and wipes what is presumably grease from Holtz’s cheek with her thumb. “How was your day?”

“Good, good.” Holtz kisses her again. “How was yours?”

“Connie took me out for a ride,” Amber says.

“Lucky girl!”

“When are _you_ gonna take me out on yours?” Amber teases, giving Holtz a playful slap on the ass.

“Patience, my dear.” Her bike is still out back. She hasn’t figured out when she’s going to bring it to New York, even though she wants to.

Amber laughs and turns back to the stove.

“If you would, Amber,” Rebecca says, “please wash your hands before handling the food again.”

Amber apologizes and moves to the sink.

“Hey, now,” Holtz says, “my ass isn’t _that_ dirty.”

Connie chuckles. “C’mon, Becca, leave ’em alone. They’re young and in love.”

Amber looks over her shoulder and smiles a little shyly at Holtz, who feels her face heat up. They haven’t said those words to each other, but Holtz thinks she might soon.

“Yeah, Becca,” Holtz says quietly, not taking her eyes off Amber. Amber’s smile widens.

“Have you forgotten what that feels like?” Connie jokes to Rebecca. “I seem to remember a time when you were so into me that you couldn’t even keep from jumpin’ me in your offi—”

Rebecca cuts her off with a look so sharp that Connie can only laugh.

“I only meant for her to wash off the grease that she removed from Jillian’s face,” Rebecca says, voice laced with sarcasm, “but thank you for the reminder.”

The rest of them burst into laughter.

“Did _not_ need to hear that,” Holtz says.

Connie smirks at her.

“Y’all are my favourite,” Amber says, still laughing.

They spend a cozy Christmas Eve together and find out that Amber can give them all a run for their money playing card games.

“Remind me to tell you some time ’bout the time I won twenty grand in Vegas,” Amber says with a laugh.

Holtz’s mouth falls open. “You did _not._ ”

Amber shrugs with a sly smile. “People trust me too easily.”

Holtz whistles.

Later that night, after they all exchange gifts, the two of them fall into the guest bed, happy and a little tipsy. Amber studies the back of one of the books Rebecca got her (ever since she found out that Amber’s a reader, the book recommendations have been constant, much to Amber’s joy) while Holtz removes bobby pins from her hair and piles them on the nightstand.

Amber reads for a bit, and then shuts the light off. Holtz snuggles closer to her, pressing her cold toes against her leg.

“Don’t you dare,” Amber hisses.

Holtz chuckles quietly.

They’re silent for a few minutes.

“Hey, babe?” Holtz says, her tongue loosened by the alcohol in her system. “I, uh…I love you.”

For one heart-stopping moment, Amber shifts away from her, and she’s about to backtrack and maybe play it off like a joke when the room fills with light and she realizes that Amber was just turning the lamp back on. She settles down and rolls to face Holtz with an incredulous look on her face.

“You do?”

Holtz swallows and nods.

“Wow,” Amber says.

Holtz laughs nervously. “Good wow or bad wow?”

Amber smiles and stretches closer to kiss her. “Definitely good wow.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Amber smirks. “I love you too.”

Holtz doesn’t even try to stop the massive grin that overtakes her face. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Amber kisses her again.

“Sweeeeet.”

Amber laughs. “You’re such a dork.”

Holtz pokes her chest. “But you love me.”

“Sure do,” Amber says.

“Huh,” Holtz says. “This is big. I feel like we should be having sex right now to celebrate.”

Amber snorts. “Jillian. We’re in Rebecca and Connie’s house.”

“I know,” Holtz whines. “I wonder if we could—”

“Think through what you’re sayin’. That’s like doin’ it in your parents’ house.”

“My parents’ house only has a twin bed,” Holtz says, patting the mattress. “We’ve got all this spaaace.”

“Nope.”

“Fine. What about at _your_ parents’ house?”

“Jillian.”

“Alriiight.”

The next morning, they wake up and exchange good tidings with Rebecca and Connie, eat breakfast, and then get on the T to head down to Mattapan, where Amber’s parents live.

“You nervous?” Amber asks.

“A bit,” Holtz admits, even though it’s definitely more than a bit. “Your parents know you’re bringing home a white girl, right? Shit, do they know you’re bringing home a white _girl?_ ”

Amber laughs and smooths down the collar of Holtz’s shirt. “You’re cute when you get all flustered over nothin’, hon.”

Holtz pouts. “I just want them to like me.”

“They will,” Amber promises. “I’ve told them all about you, and they love you already.”

“I’m weirder in person,” Holtz mutters.

“Exactly,” Amber says. “That’s what I love about you.”

Holtz gives her a half-smile, but she’s still anxious.

Amber’s parents live in a small, blue house. Outside, Amber straightens Holtz’s vest and picks something out of her hair, then kisses her before ringing the doorbell.

The door opens to reveal a woman who looks remarkably like Amber, just much taller. She squeals a little when she sees them and pulls Amber in for a hug, then turns to Holtz.

“You must be Jillian. C’mere, we’re a family of huggers.”

Holtz smiles and accepts a hug from her. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Coleman. Merry Christmas.”

“Call me Wanda, honey. Now, come on in out of the cold.”

Amber takes her by the hand and pulls her inside the house. Down in the living room, Holtz meets Amber’s dad, who introduces himself as James. It’s easy to see that Amber got her short stature from him, as well as her cheery personality. Although, Wanda is lovely, too. It’s no wonder that they raised a daughter like Amber. She makes sure to tell them that.

Very quickly, her nerves dissipate. They make her feel at home. They exchange gifts, and she’s touched that they thought to get her something.

They ask her lots of questions about where she grew up and what her family is like.

“Well, my mom passed when I was fifteen,” she says, and Amber squeezes her hand, “and I never had a father. My stepdad’s still in Battle Creek with his new wife, and I’ve got a half-brother, Luke, who’s been studying at UC Berkeley since September.”

“And remind us who you’ve been staying with here?” Wanda asks.

“Ah, yes, my adoptive moms.” Holtz chuckles. “Rebecca was my mentor at MIT, and Connie is her wife. I’ve known Rebecca for ten years, now, and Connie for seven. I consider them family.”

“That’s lovely,” Wanda says. “Maybe we’ll all have to have dinner the next time you’re in town.”

“I’d like that,” Holtz says, smiling.

The rest of the visit goes by smoothly. They have a massive turkey dinner that some of Amber’s extended family comes to, and they’re all wonderful, too. Everything is wonderful.

On the 29th, they say goodbye and head back to see Rebecca and Connie one last time, and then they fly back to New York.

“That wasn’t so bad, huh?” Amber says on the flight.

Holtz smiles and kisses her shoulder. “No. No, it wasn’t bad at all.”

In February, a week or so after Abby’s birthday, Holtz and Amber are out having lunch when Amber clears her throat.

“So, Marie’s movin’ out at the end of the month.”

Holtz looks up from her sandwich. Amber’s roommate. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Amber stirs her soup. “And I was thinkin’…we don’t get as much alone time as I’d like.”

Holtz laughs. It’s true. Between Amber having a roommate and Holtz still sleeping on the futon in Abby’s apartment, they don’t get much privacy. “Do you have a solution?”

Amber smiles, eyes crinkling. “Depends. You lookin’ for a place?”

Holtz smiles back, reaches across the table, takes her hand. “I could be persuaded to move.”

“Could you now?” Amber smirks.

Holtz lifts her hand to press a kiss to the back of it and winks. “Whaddya think? Should we U-Haul it?”

Amber laughs so hard that the people at the table beside them look over. “Yeah,” she says when she’s finally composed herself. “Yeah, I think we should.”

When Holtz gets back to the lab, she tells Abby the news. She doesn’t seem surprised.

“About time,” she says.

“We’ve been together for less than six months,” Holtz reminds her.

“Uh huh,” Abby says, like she isn’t really convinced of that at all.

 On March 1st, she drags her limited selection of possessions to Amber’s apartment. _Their_ apartment.

“I think you’re the best roommate I’ve ever had.” Holtz kisses her.

Abby looks up from where she’s just set down a box of Holtz’s clothes on the other side of the room. “I take offence to that.”

“I don’t get to sleep with _you_ ,” Holtz throws over her shoulder, and as she says it her thoughts go to Erin for a fraction of a second. How could she not think of her?

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Abby says. “Jesus. I’ll see you at the lab tomorrow.”

Holtz laughs and salutes at her retreating back just before she slips out the door.

They spend the rest of the evening in bed instead of unpacking, and Holtz’s mind isn’t on Erin anymore, that’s for damn sure.

Living with Amber is everything that Holtz hoped it would be. She’s a good roommate and her bad habits are more endearing than irritating.

They cook dinner together when they get home at the end of the day, and Holtz always looks forward to it so much that she leaves the lab at a reasonable time every day. They have cuddly movie nights that descend into popcorn fights. They go grocery shopping together and Holtz rides down the aisles on the back of their cart. They have Friday night dates all over the city. They hang weird artwork that Abby eyes warily when she visits. Holtz brings home strange items that she finds in her weekly dumpster dives and Amber laughs and calls them art installations.

Their apartment is full, and happy.

In June, the two of them go back to Boston to go with Pride with Rebecca and Connie. All the Dykes are excited to see her back again. She introduces Amber to all of them, and they immediately start ribbing her in a way that indicates that they’ve already accepted her. She holds her own around them pretty well, firing back some lighthearted jabs of her own and showing off her quick wit. Holtz is proud of her.

Holtz rides her bike with them again, and Amber rides with her. The two of them have matching rainbows smeared on their cheeks.

She thinks it might even be a better Pride than the last one she attended, which has been tainted by the negative memories associated with her CERN offer. This year, there’s no room for negativity. It’s a day of lightness, of love.

In July, she approaches the one year mark since her hospitalization. She’s emotional all day about how far she’s come. She phones Rebecca and Connie and cries a little as she thanks them for all that they’ve done for her. She takes Abby out for lunch to thank her for how supportive _she’s_ been over the past year (and even for the years and years before that, too).

She thanks Amber.

“A year ago,” she says shakily, “I wasn’t even sure if I’d ever be _happy_ again, let alone as happy as I am now. With you.”

Amber thumbs tears from her cheeks and kisses her sweetly. “I love you.”

“I love _you_ ,” Holtz says.

In September, she turns thirty-three and Amber throws her a small party, with a real cake and everything. Holtz can’t remember the last time she had a proper cake and party for her birthday. Last year, Abby bought her a cupcake, but that was pretty much the extent of their celebration.

Amber goes all out, though. When Holtz asks her why she’s making such a big deal out of it, she says, “You’ve made it thirty-three years, and your life’s worth celebrating.”

Holtz doesn’t know what to say to that, so she just kisses her.

In October, they’re getting ready for bed one night and Amber reaches out to touch her necklace, runs her finger along the screw.

“Every time I look at this, I feel like it’s directed at me,” she says.

Holtz looks down at the heavy pendant. “Really?”

“I know it’s _not,_ but it’s just so negative, you know? Why do you wear it, anyway? You’re not the kinda person who goes around flipping folks off.”

Holtz supposes she isn’t. Not anymore. “I could take it off,” she says. Amber’s right, she doesn’t exactly radiate the message anymore, nor does she need the reminder. In fact, she probably _should_ take it off. It’ll be like letting go of that last trace of anger. Finally leaving behind all that Erin stuff once and for all. Moving on _completely._

“You should,” Amber says. “You don’t need that negativity.”

Holtz smiles and reaches back to unhook the necklace. “No. I don’t.”

She doesn’t know what to do with it, but she doesn’t get rid of it. She buries it in the back of her desk drawer, and she forgets about it.

In November, she asks Amber if she would consider going to Michigan for Christmas this year to meet Mark, Brenda, and Luke, who’ll be home from California for the holiday. Amber eagerly agrees.

In December, they fly to Michigan. Holtz hasn’t been home for a year and a half, since Luke’s graduation.

She can tell they’re all a little on-edge at first, scared of how she’s going to be. They didn’t hear about the incident in July until after she had already moved to New York. Mark almost flew out to see her after she told him, but she swore up and down that she was doing better. She even had Abby talk to him to confirm that she was being taken care of.

They seem pleasantly surprised at the change in her and she knows that they must’ve been expecting her to still be a little messed up. It only takes them a few hours to stop tiptoeing around her like she’s breakable, and then everything feels normal again.

They love Amber. Mark makes a point of pulling Holtz aside to tell her that he’s really glad that she found her.

“It’s been so long since you’ve seemed this happy,” he says, giving her a tight hug.

_Like…twelve years, perhaps?_

“I am really happy,” she says, and she means it.

Amber continues to make her happy. Months and months go by and the spark between them doesn’t diminish, but it does soften into something even more intimate, tender, _lasting_.

That June they go back to Boston for Pride again, and then a few weeks later on the 26th, they watch history be made as the Supreme Court rules that marriage equality is a constitutional right. Holtz and Abby spend their entire work day in front of the small TV in the lab, watching the news until the verdict breaks. They dance and scream and hug and cheer and the first thing Holtz does is call Rebecca and Connie and shout into the phone with exuberance to congratulate them on their legal marriage. She passes the phone to Abby for a second, who’s out of breath from running around the lab, and she says, “Congrats, you’re legal!” and hands the phone back to Holtz so she can continue with her victory laps. Holtz shouts some more things and then hangs up before Rebecca and Connie can even reply.

Then she calls Amber, and screams at her for a bit, too. The three of them go down to Stonewall, which is flooded with people, and they wrap themselves in rainbow flags and hug everyone in sight and Holtz can’t stop kissing Amber and she loves life with every fibre of her being. She takes photos and video and sends them to Rebecca and Connie and she keeps crying because it’s all so incredible.

It’s one of the best days of her entire life.

A few days later, when she’s come down from the high enough to talk coherently, she phones Rebecca and Connie again. Rebecca’s at the lab, but Connie is home.

After a while, Connie casually asks, “You think you’re gonna tie the knot with Amber now?”

Holtz blinks, surprised by the question. She hasn’t really thought about it. She loves Amber, and can see a future with her, but something about the idea of legally committing to a lifetime with her doesn’t quite sit right in the pit of her stomach.

Or maybe it’s just the idea of committing to a lifetime with anybody?

No, no, she always wanted to get married. Before she started dating Amber, she was always daydreaming about marriage, about a wedding band secure around her finger, about an herb garden in the windowsill. She longed for the day when she could introduce a girl as her wife. So what’s the problem?

“I don’t know,” she says, answering both Connie’s question and her own.

“Not Amber’s thing? That’s alright. S’not for everyone. I was just wondering.”

“No, that’s not…I don’t know. I just…I don’t…we haven’t…” Holtz doesn’t know what to say.

“You haven’t talked about it?” Connie sounds surprised.

“I haven’t even _thought_ about it,” Holtz says quietly.

“Oh.” Connie still sounds baffled by that, and it’s no wonder, what with how often Holtz has gushed about marriage in all the years she’s known her. “Well that’s…that’s okay. You haven’t been together that long. You got loads of time.” She laughs. “Hell, Becca and I were together for thirteen years before we got married, even though that wasn’t always by choice. Point is, if you guys do want to, there’s no rush. And if you don’t, well, that’s alright, too.”

“Thanks, Connie,” Holtz says genuinely but absentmindedly as she tries to wrap her head around why she wouldn’t have at least _thought_ about marrying Amber. She wonders if Amber’s thinking about it, especially now with the Supreme Court’s decision being so prominent in everyone’s minds. Everyone but Holtz, apparently.

After a while, it becomes pretty obvious that Amber is thinking about it. And that she wants to get married. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to.

But Holtz still isn’t sure.

They don’t talk about it. Time continues to pass. In September, they reach their second anniversary and take a mini trip to Long Island, stay at a B&B, relax.

They spend another Christmas in Boston. Both Connie and Rebecca _and_ Amber’s parents seem to be expecting an announcement, but they don’t have anything to tell them. Wanda even jokes about when she can expect to see a ring, and Holtz can tell that Amber’s a little disappointed even though she laughs and plays it off like she’s not.

In early February, Holtz gets home from the lab late one night to find it empty. Immediately, worry slashes through her. She never beats Amber home.

She tries her cell, and it goes to voicemail, and then she really starts to get worried. She calls Abby, who talks her down to a more level-headed state. When she gets off the phone with her, she tries calling Amber again, leaves a second voicemail, then takes a deep breath and tries to figure out what to do next.

She doesn’t get that far before her phone rings.

_Wanda Coleman_

Her stomach bottoms out.

“Hello?” she answers anxiously.

Wanda’s calm but scared voice tells her that Amber is in the hospital after being hit by a car. She was still listed as Amber’s emergency contact, that’s why they called her. She’s already on her way with James.

“What hospital?” Holtz manages to get out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger! Rest of this section soon(ish). I'm working full time now so I don't have time to write like I used to. I only have one more finished chapter before we get to the stuff that I'm still (slowly) working on so I can't give you too much of a timeline rn on when to expect more. Anyways, hope you don't hate me too much!


	14. (and it may never be enough)

Holtz makes it to New York-Presbyterian in record time, and then she’s at the emergency room desk trying to keep her cool.

“What do you _mean_ I can’t go back to see her?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the man repeats, “only family.”

“I’m her fucking _girlfriend_ ,” Holtz says, getting more and more hysterical by the second.

He looks apologetic. “Unless you’re her spouse, I’m sorry; there’s nothing I can do.”

Holtz kicks the base of the desk, more out of anger at the system than the man himself, and strides over to sit in a chair and wait until someone will tell her what the hell is going on.

She doesn’t let herself sleep, even though it’s getting late. She buys a coffee from a vending machine, and then an energy drink when the coffee doesn’t help. She paces back and forth in the emergency room.

At some point around 4:00am, Wanda and James rush in, and they seem equally as horrified that nobody has told Holtz what’s going on or let her see Amber. They’re allowed to go back and promise to tell her news right away.

It’s less than fifteen minutes later when Wanda comes back out to the waiting room. Holtz’s heart is beating in her throat.

“She’s gonna be okay,” Wanda says right away, and Holtz slumps in relief.

“What happened?”

“Seizure,” Wanda says sadly. “Walked into traffic.”

Holtz winces. Amber has suffered from petit mal seizures since she was a kid, where she’ll lose consciousness for a short amount of time. Holtz has seen it happen a few times in the past few years, and it’s always scary to watch her be awake yet completely absent from her body, staring blankly, completely unaware of her surroundings.

“But she’s okay?”

“Broke her arm when the car hit her, and has a hell of a lot of bruises, but she’s okay. Shaken up.”

“Will they let me see her, yet?” Holtz asks anxiously.

Wanda shakes her head. “Sorry, honey.”

Holtz crosses her arms. “I’ll wait.”

“Go home, get some sleep. Pick up some stuff for her for when she’s discharged. I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”

“Fine,” Holtz grumbles. “Call me if anything changes?”

“I will,” Wanda promises.

Holtz goes back to the apartment, takes a twenty-minute nap, then packs a bag for Amber. She swings by Starbucks and gets a double shot for herself, then coffees for Wanda and James, even an iced coffee for Amber if she’ll be able to get it to her. Amber will drink iced coffee even in the dead of winter. Holtz always teases her about it, but she never will again, not after this. Amber can drink anything she likes.

When she gets back to the hospital, they finally let her go in to see her. When she pokes her head into the room, she takes in Amber on the bed, arm in a cast, looking as cheerful as ever. They all turn to look at her when she clears her throat.

She lifts up the take-out coffee cup holder. “I brought coffee.”

Wanda and James thank her and take theirs, then subtly step outside. Holtz crosses the small space and sets the coffee tray on the chair beside the bed, grateful that the other bed in the room is empty and they have some privacy.

“Hey,” she says softly as her eyes fill with tears.

“Hey. Don’t do that,” Amber says.

Holtz bends to kiss her, and Amber gently wipes the tears from her cheeks. Holtz takes her face in her hands and turns her head back and forth, inspecting her for damage. There are some shallow scrapes, some purpling bruises.

She realizes how horrible it feels to be on this side of the hospital bed, and feels another pang of sympathy for all she’s put her loved ones through over the years.

“I was so scared,” she says quietly. “They wouldn’t let me see you.”

“I know,” Amber says somberly, “but I’m okay, see?”

“Not quite,” Holtz says, her eyes darting to the cast on her arm.

Amber follows her gaze and sighs. “Broken bones heal.”

Holtz looks back at her face, her dark eyes, her cute little nose that she loves to kiss. “They do.” She leans in to press another long kiss to her lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Amber mumbles against her lips. “Now, you wanna pass me that coffee?”

Holtz smiles.

After Amber is discharged and comes home, Holtz spends her recovery period doting on her. She does everything—cooks, cleans, brings Amber stuff even though she didn’t even break her dominant arm. She cuts down on her hours at the lab and curls up with her and watches movie after movie. She buys a pack of coloured Sharpies and turns Amber’s entire cast into a work of art.

The entire time, she’s mulling over an idea.

At the end of the month, she tells Amber that there’s an engineering conference in Boston in March that she wants to go to.

“Why don’t you come with?” she suggests casually. “We could make a week out of it. You could come up on the Monday after the conference is over and we could have a bit of a vacation. See Becca and Connie, see your parents…”

Amber laughs. “We just saw my parents.”

Holtz shrugs and tickles her side. “Come on. Don’t make me go up alone. I thought maybe we could drive back down, bring my bike back here finally. Whaddya say?”

Amber smiles and kisses her. “Alright. You convinced me.”

They book tickets. Holtz arrive early on the Friday morning and goes straight to Rebecca and Connie’s house.

“Jillian!” Rebecca says in surprise when she opens the door. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“Secret mission. Mind if I borrow your wife for a bit?”

Rebecca stares at her. “She has to work today.”

“Damn. Right. Tomorrow, then?” Holtz steps past her into the townhouse. “By the way, is it cool if I stay here a few nights? I didn’t book a hotel.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes as she shuts the door. “You’re always more than welcome here, although we would prefer some notice next time.”

Holtz smiles over her shoulder. “Ah, but that would’ve ruined the surprise.”

“Well, Connie’s already gone, and I am about to leave for the lab.”

“S’alright. I’ll just chill here and wait for you to get back.”

Rebecca gives her a look but doesn’t ask any more questions. Holtz spends the day watching TV and raiding their fridge.

When Connie gets home from work, she doesn’t seem surprised to see Holtz there. Rebecca must’ve called her to warn her.

“Hey, you. How’s Pilgrim these days?” Holtz says with a smirk as Connie enters the living room.

“Same as ever,” Connie says. “Whatcha doin’ here?”

She stands and gives Connie a hug. “Oh, you know, bit of this, bit of that.”

“Huh?”

“The official story is that I’m here for a ‘conference,’” Holtz says, putting the word in air quotations.

Connie frowns as she considers that. “Everything okay with you and Amber?”

Holtz grins. “Better than okay. Few broken bones, but those heal.”

“Huh?” Connie repeats.

Holtz waves her off. “Listen, I need your help and expertise.”

“Expertise with what? Bikes?”

Holtz hums. “That too. But no, this is a bit more sensitive.”

Connie squints. “We need to have another sex talk?”

Holtz covers her ears immediately. “Oh, _God_ no. Never again. I am doing _perfectly_ fine in that department, thank you very much.”

Connie chuckles. “So what’s up, then?”

Holtz drops her hands from her ears and grins. “Well, I don’t know much about jewelry, but I thought since you have a bit more experience with this, you could help me out.” She lifts her left hand and wiggles her fingers.

Connie’s mouth falls open. “No shit? Really?”

Holtz hums again. “She’s coming up on Monday. I’m gonna go talk to her parents tomorrow night.”

“Congrats, kid! That’s big! What changed your mind?”

Holtz shrugs, thinks about Amber all alone in a hospital bed. She licks her lips. “Dunno. Sometimes life just kinda gives you a sign, y’know?”

Connie nods. “I do, yeah.”

When Rebecca gets home later, Holtz tells her the news, too. She smiles and congratulates her. The three of them cook dinner together and Holtz tells them all about what she’s been getting up to in New York in the few months since she last saw them.

After dinner, she slips out on an errand, and by the time she gets back, they’ve already gone to bed. She tiptoes up to the guest bedroom, gets ready, and crawls into bed as well. She has a big day ahead of her tomorrow.

She smiles to herself as she turns off the lamp, and she drifts easily off to sleep after that.

The next day, her and Connie head out early to go shopping even though Connie says she’s not sure how much help she’ll actually be considering she had Rebecca there to help pick out her ring. Holtz doesn’t care. She asked her to come less because she thinks she can actually help, and more because it’s Connie and she wants her by her side while she does this.

Holtz is expecting it to take all day, but she finds exactly what she was looking for in the first store they go to. She didn’t even know what she was looking for until she found it. As soon as she saw it, she knew.

“That one,” she says, tapping the glass.

“You sure?” Connie says.

“I’m sure,” Holtz says.

They go back to the townhouse with the box sitting heavy in the pocket of her pants. There, she freshens up, changes her shirt (twice), redoes her hair, and then she gets on her bike and rides to Mattapan.

She pulls up to the little blue house and idles for a few seconds before she shuts off the bike. She climbs the steps, shuffles nervously outside the door. She takes a deep breath, then knocks.

Wanda answers the door.

“Jillian!”

Holtz smiles a little sheepishly. “Hey.”

“What’s going on? Where’s Amber? Is she okay?”

“She’s back in New York, doing just fine. I, uh…came to see you.”

Wanda blinks. “Oh? Come in, then.”

She sits across from the two of them in the living room and fidgets. “So, here’s the thing. Um. I know this is kind of old-fashioned, and probably not entirely necessary, and I’m not here to ask permission because I’m gonna do it regardless, but I wanted to let you know that I, umm…I’m gonnaaskAmbertomarryme.”

A beat of silence, then wide smiles overtake both of their faces.

“Oh, Jillian,” Wanda says. “Nothing would make us happier.”

Holtz lights up. “You mean it?”

“You’re good for her,” James says.

“She’s good for me, too,” Holtz says with a soft smile.

“I have—” Wanda gets up from the couch and leaves the room for a minute. When she gets back, she hands Holtz a box. “I don’t know if you have a ring already, but that belonged to her grandmother.”

“I do, but—” Holtz breaks off as she opens the box and the ring inside takes her breath away. “Oh, wow.”

“Do you have the other one?”

Holtz absentmindedly pulls the box from her pocket and tosses it to Wanda without taking her eyes off the ring. Something strange is stirring in her stomach.

She hears the other box squeak open.

“It’s very beautiful,” Wanda says.

Holtz makes a noise. She finally looks up. “Now I don’t know. Do you mind if I…take this? And deliberate?”

Wanda gestures her assent and passes her back the other ring. Holtz takes one last look at both of them, then shuts the boxes.

“I should get back,” she says quietly, then clears her throat. “Amber’s coming up on Monday, so we’ll probably be by on Tuesday if all goes according to plan.” She laughs nervously. “And if she says yes.”

Wanda smiles. “She will.”

Holtz is distracted as she rides back to Rebecca and Connie’s. They’re waiting for her with dinner ready.

“How’d it go?” Connie asks.

“Good,” Holtz says, but her mind is still elsewhere.

That night, in the privacy of the guest bedroom, she opens up both ring boxes again and stares at the two of them side-by-side for a long time.

The one she bought is all wrong for Amber, she realizes now. What the hell was she thinking?

Why had she felt such a strong pull to it when she saw it? Something overtook her, and it felt as right as Amber herself does. She knew deep in her heart that it was the one the second she saw it.

But it’s all wrong for Amber. How the fuck did that happen? And how did she not notice until now?

Her grandmother’s ring is perfect. She knows without a doubt that it’s the one she’ll be giving her on Monday.

She doesn’t know what to do with the one she bought. She doesn’t even know if she wants to return it, which doesn’t make sense. What’s she going to do with a spare engagement ring? She could wear it herself, she supposes, but it’s not her style even remotely. And it’s a safety hazard.

She doesn’t know what to make of the situation and it’s giving her a headache, so she closes the boxes, buries the one she bought in the bottom of her duffle bag, and puts the one with the better ring on the bedside table.

She spends Sunday hanging out with Rebecca and Connie, texting Amber frequent updates from the ‘conference’ so she doesn’t get suspicious.

On Monday, she goes and picks Amber up and takes her to lunch, then they go back to the townhouse. Rebecca and Connie are remarkably good actors. They don’t give any indication that something is happening today. They even chat about Holtz’s conference and give her more credibility.

Later, they have dinner together. Afterwards, in as casual a way as she can muster, Holtz says, “I’m restless. Can we go out?”

“Out? Where?”

Holtz shrugs. “I haven’t been to my old bar in years. We could swing by, get some drinks, say hey to people? We don’t have to go for long.”

Amber laughs. “Man, we’re gettin’ old. I already wanna turn in. That sounds fun, though. I’m down.”

Holtz smiles.

Before they leave, she ducks into the bathroom and fires off a text.

They take the bike, and pull into the parking lot of the familiar bar.

“They painted,” Amber comments as she takes off her helmet.

“Huh, so they did,” Holtz says, as if she wasn’t here a few days ago.

They get to the door, and Holtz holds it open for her. Her stomach feels like it’s doing backflips. Amber smiles and steps inside, then freezes.

She looks back over her shoulder, eyes widening.

Holtz grins. “Go on.”

Amber blinks and continues inside. Holtz follows her in, relaxing when she sees that everything is exactly how she wanted it to be. Bless lesbians. They’re always dependable to get shit done and never half-ass a job.

Amber looks around the room in wonder at the hundreds of flickering candles on the tables and bar, the smiling faces of Holtz’s old coworkers, roommates, friends, regulars, and various Dykes on Bikes members that she’s met over the years. [You Don’t Know My Name](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u_1Sh0BnHr8) is playing softly.

Outside, she hears the recognizable sound of Connie’s bike as it pulls up and shust off, and then a minute later the door opens and Connie slips in, followed by Rebecca. Connie gives her a thumbs up, and Holtz grins back.

Amber is still taking it all in.

“Why don’t we get you a drink?” Holtz says in her ear, placing one hand on the small of her back and guiding her towards the bar, where Taylor is waiting with an already-prepared mojito for her.

“On the house,” they say with a wink, sliding it across to Amber, who takes the glass with a dumbfounded expression.

“Jillian,” Amber says quietly.

“Yeeeesssss?”

“What’s going on?” She sounds like she already knows the answer.

“Funny you should ask that.” Holtz winks as she reaches for the box in her pocket and slides down to one knee. “Aaaamber,” she singsongs. “Twelve years ago today, you walked into this very bar, and this song was playing, and I made you a drink much like the one you’re holding—although probably better, because let’s face it, nobody around here has ever come close to me.”

There’s a ripple of laughter across the bar. Amber just shakes her head with a smile.

“I think I knew,” she continues, “even then, that we had something special. And when you walked back in here eight years after _that,_ something about you just felt right. That’s why, the second I moved to New York, I stalked you on the internet and hunted you down at your place of work _just_ to ask you out.”

Amber laughs, and then she wipes at her eyes with her free hand.

Holtz softens her smile. “I realized something last month, and that’s that I never want to be apart from you again. I want to be there at your side, holding your hand when you need me, because that’s what you’ve done for me. I don’t want anything to get in the way of that ever again. So, Amber Coleman, love of my life—” She opens the small box, hands shaking slightly— “will you marry me?”

Amber sets her drink on the bar and nods, tears visible on her cheeks. “Yes. _Yes._ ”

Holtz grins as the rest of the bar erupts into loud cheers and hollers. She stands and lets Amber pull her in for a long kiss, then she shows her the ring.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s your grandmother’s.”

Amber looks up at her as Holtz pushes it into place on her ring finger. “You talked to my parents?”

Holtz gives her a lopsided smile. “Why’d you think I came up here early?”

“Your confer— _you!”_

Holtz laughs. “Sorry? You have to admit, this is much more important than an imaginary engineering conference.”

Then Connie and Rebecca are there, and Connie pulls each of them in for a tight hug, and Rebecca nods and congratulates them, and there’s a swarm of other people waiting to do the same. Taylor announces that the next round of drinks is on the house.

They talk and laugh and drink and catch up with everyone. As the night winds down, Holtz finds her way back over to where Connie and Rebecca are sitting with a bunch of their friends, and clears her throat. “I think we might take off soon,” she says, shooting a glance and smile at Amber and giving her hand a squeeze. “We actually booked a hotel for the rest of the trip, because this calls for a celebration, and not the kind of celebration that we feel comfortable undertaking in your guest bedroom.”

Rebecca pinches the bridge of her nose. Connie just laughs, as does everyone else.

One of the butches, Max, lightly elbows Rebecca. “Isn’t that considerate?”

Rebecca gives her a long, unblinking glare as she downs the rest of her martini.

(They take off not long after that, and boy do they ever celebrate).

The next day, after they finally make it out of bed (after not one, but _two_ meals delivered via room service), they head down to Mattapan to tell Wanda and James the good news. They have a wonderful dinner with them, and then head back to the hotel, where Holtz phones Mark to tell him as well. He’s overjoyed to hear the news, and says they’ll have to come back to Battle Creek soon to celebrate in person.

They see Rebecca and Connie a few more times, and then they head back to New York. Amber ends up taking the train, and Holtz finally rides the bike down. Connie says she’ll be sad to see it go and not have it keeping her Harleys company. Holtz says she’ll bring it back for visits.

As soon as they’re back at the apartment, Amber pounces on her.

“We’ve gotta make this Facebook official.”

“Doooo we?” Holtz whines. “I have like two friends.”

“Well _I_ have two hundred, and I wanna brag about the girl I landed.”

Holtz laughs. “Fine. But not until we tell Abby.” They wanted to wait and tell her in person, which is why they didn’t call her right away.

“Deal.”

“She’s probably hanging around the lab right now. You wanna swing by and see?”

She is. She looks surprised to see them, or at least to see Amber.

“Have a good trip?”

“It was excellent,” Holtz says.

“Learn anything at the conference?” Abby asks as she turns back to her work.

“Oh yeah, it was enlightening, that’s for sure.”

Amber giggles.

“I picked up some great souvenirs, too,” Holtz says, “like a fiancée.”

Abby’s head snaps up so fast it’s a wonder she doesn’t get whiplash. “Seriously?”

Amber holds her hand up with a laugh.

For a few seconds, Abby just looks a little shocked, but then she smiles. “Oh my God, you guys! Congrats!”

There’s something that Holtz can’t quite place buried in Abby’s eyes, but it disappears before she can figure out what it is.

They go back to the apartment, and Amber takes a selfie of them kissing with her hand help up in front of the camera to show off the ring. While she waits for it to upload, she looks over at Holtz’s beaten-up laptop.

“For the love of Jesus, could you _please_ change your profile picture?”

“What’s wrong with this one? It’s not the little grey man anymore, per your request.”

“It’s also not your _face._ ”

“Sure it is.” Holtz touches the screen, the cropped photo of the top quadrant of her head—her eye behind yellow glass, and a little bit of her hair. “That’s me.”

Amber shoots her a look.

“Fiiiine,” Holtz groans. “You’d better get in, too, then.”

Amber obliges, snaps another photo of them with her kissing Holtz’s cheek. Holtz pulls a funny face, and Amber sighs but deems it acceptable.

“Happy?” Holtz says as she sets it as her profile picture.

“Very,” Amber says, then posts the engagement announcement photo.

Holtz gets the notification that she’s been tagged and opens it up. It is a cute photo, she can admit that. The caption reads: _Love this woman. Can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you xo_

Holtz likes the post. Then she gets another notification, reads it, and rolls her eyes at Amber. “Really?”

Amber makes puppy-dog eyes at her. “Please?”

“Fine,” Holtz grumbles, but she smiles as she clicks accept.

The change appears on her profile.

_Jillian Holtzmann is engaged to Amber Coleman._

“Doesn’t that look nice?” Amber snuggles closer to her.

Holtz smirks and kisses the top of her head. “Very nice.” She slams her laptop shut. “Now, that’s enough social media for today.”

“Hey, so how big of a deal do you want to make this thing, anyway?” Amber asks.

“You mean the wedding?” Holtz takes hold of Amber’s hand and runs her thumb along the back of it. “I mean, I’d be happy to go down to the courthouse tomorrow and make this a done deal, but if you want a _wedding_ wedding, then that’s what we’ll have.”

“You mean it?”

“Which part? Doesn’t matter. Yes, I do.”

“I want a wedding,” Amber says with a laugh, “but it’s nice to know you’re eager, love.”

“Then we’ll do the whole shebang, like I said. Whatever your heart desires. Money is no object. Well, money is _some_ object. You’re still a student and I work at an institution that spells science with a y.”

Amber snorts. “When do you want to get married?”

“Tomorrow.”

Amber shoves her. “What _month?_ Seriously.”

Holtz hums. “How long does it take to plan these things? We could do September, around our anniversary. Or we could stick with March. It’s kinda our month.”

“Let’s do March. That gives us a year to plan.”

“Done and done.”

“Hey. We’re getting married next March.”

Holtz grins. “ _Yeah_ we are.”

Life as fiancées is pretty much the same as life as girlfriends. Nothing changes much, except now there are bridal magazines lounging on their coffee table and things between them shift ever-so-slightly with the promise of forever.

Holtz is as happy as she’s ever been.

They put down deposits for a venue. They discuss stuff like centerpieces and colour schemes over dinner (well, Amber discusses, Holtz listens and nods when appropriate). Amber goes back to Boston to go dress shopping with her mom and aunt. The months fly by.

Holtz turns thirty-five in September and feels really old.

Amber heads into the last stretch of her doctorate at Columbia and spends long days working on her dissertation. She wedding-plans in the downtime when she’s losing her mind and needs a break. Holtz brings her snacks and pats her head and offers support. She’s been there. It wasn’t a fun time.

She meets Amber at Columbia for lunch a lot of days, too. Amber used to come meet her at Higgins, but now she barely has time to leave the library, so Holtz has to come to her and make sure she’s taking breaks and eating.

One day in early October, they’re crossing campus to get lunch, clasped hands swinging between them, playfully arguing about what music they’re going to walk down the aisle to (Amber wants traditional, Holtz wants to go pretty out-there), and Holtz sees something that makes her stop dead.

Amber jerks to a stop beside her. “What?”

Holtz’s heart is beating so loudly it feels like her eardrums are going to explode. She feels like she’s going to puke.

“What’s going on, Jillian?” Amber reaches for her shoulder, concerned.

Holtz does the only thing she can think to do in that moment.

She pulls Amber towards her and kisses her, hard.

 

Erin is minding her own business, crossing campus in the direction of the Low Library, when she freezes.

It’s her.

It’s Jillian.

It’s Jillian, and she’s tightly embracing, _kissing_ , another woman, a short black woman who Erin thinks she’s seen in the library before.

Something in her chest burns at the sight.

They pull apart, and the woman laughs and says something.

And then—then Jillian turns her head and makes steady eye contact with Erin for several long, painful seconds, her face hard.

She says something to the woman, not tearing her gaze from Erin, then pulls her by the hand and they walk in the opposite direction.

Erin stays there, motionless, until they’re just a speck in the distance.

Then she starts crying.

She cancels the rest of her classes for the day, says she’s sick, and she goes back to her apartment, where she lets herself fully break down.

She’s not sure what this is a reaction to—seeing Jillian, getting confirmation that she really is still alive, or something else entirely.

She can’t get the image of her and that woman out of her head.

She curls up in a ball on her bed and pulls her laptop towards her, opens her barely-checked Facebook.

She hesitates, chews on her lip, then searches for _Jillian Holtzmann_.

She shows up right away, at the top of the list, and the same woman she was with is in her profile picture. Erin feels physically sick as she opens her profile and enlarges the photo. The woman is kissing Jillian’s cheek. Jillian has her eyes crossed and is sticking out her tongue.

She looks so happy.

Erin pokes around on her profile a bit more, and it’s almost entirely bare except for one line in the About section.

_Engaged to Amber Coleman_.

Suddenly Erin feels like she’s hyperventilating. She might be, actually.

She closes her laptop and puts head between her knees, tries to breathe evenly, fails.

Engaged.

She’s engaged.

_Why should it matter?_ a tiny voice in the back of her head says.

She doesn’t understand why she’s reacting like this. Shouldn’t she just be happy for her? Even though they haven’t spoken in fourteen years, Jillian still used to be her best friend. She should want her to be happy.

_No,_ a separate, distinct voice says. _Not like this. Not with someone else_.

Someone _else?_ What’s that supposed to mean?

She always knew that Jillian loved her.

Selfishly, she thought it would always be like that. She never thought about the possibility of Jillian moving on.

But of course she has. Why wouldn’t she? And why wouldn’t she deserve to move on? To be with someone who will love her back?

Erin left. Erin made her choices.

It’s not like she was ever prepared to be with her like _this_. It’s not like she ever loved Jillian back in this way.

Something sharp and jagged twists in her abdomen like a key in a lock.

She thinks about Jillian. The kindest, strangest, gentlest, most wonderful person Erin has ever known. Yellow glasses, a green watch too large for her wrist, patchwork bag full of memories, untameable blonde hair. Blue bandanas and old band shirts, waistcoats and green suits. Eyes the colour of oceans, skin the colour of moonlight, awkward limbs and a sloped nose and hands that could do anything. The brain of a genius, the soul of a saint. A heart too big for her own good. She lived recklessly, loved recklessly, hurt recklessly. She destroyed almost as much as she created, maybe even more. She built robots, built bombs, built walls around her heart but let Erin climb over them anyway. She was beautiful. She was bigger than herself, bigger than Battle Creek, bigger than Erin. She was everything.

Erin loved her.

She can’t breathe.

She loved her. How had she not seen it? How deep in denial was she that she’s spent the past twenty-seven years of her life denying the fact that Jillian was, is, and always will be the most important person in her life?

She thinks about what it was like to kiss her, hold her, make love with her, dance with her, talk to her, _be_ with her.

How could she have ever left?

How could she have turned her back on Jillian and all that they had?

How could she have possibly convinced herself that she didn’t feel anything for her, that she was straight, that the two of them didn’t fit together like they were made for each other?

She loved her.

She still does.

She loves her.

She loves her, but she left.

She loves her, but it’s too late.

She loves her, but Jillian has moved on.

 

Holtz can’t stop thinking about Erin.

Amber notices the change in her, notices how quiet she’s been, asks what’s wrong. She lies and says she’s fine.

Amber packs and prepares to spend the entire month of November in Croatia doing field work for her dissertation. It’s going to be hard being away from her for a month, but they’ve promised to Skype frequently.

Holtz drops her off at JFK, kisses her long and hard before she lets her go and watches her disappear through security.

Then she goes back home and sits in the apartment alone for the rest of the day.

She thinks about Erin some more.

She thinks about her more than she’s thought about her in years and years. Definitely more than she’s thought about her in the past three years that she’s been with Amber combined.

She doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t know how to _stop_.

She calls Rebecca and Connie.

Normally, Connie would be who she’d go to about something like this, but this time, she asks for Rebecca.

“I need advice,” she says.

Rebecca pauses. “Maybe you should speak with Connie.”

“No,” Holtz says, “it needs to be you.”

Rebecca doesn’t question why. There’s another long pause. “Very well, Jillian. What is it?”

Holtz swallows. Closes her eyes.

“Did Connie ever tell you about Erin?” Jillian says in a small voice.

A beat. “No, I don’t think she did.”

Jillian exhales.

“Was that the girl who was in your quantum theory class in the second year of your doctorate?”

Jillian sighs and rolls over in bed, away from her phone, which is resting on the bedside table on speakerphone. She picks up the blue teddy bear that still sits in the corner of the bed. His name is Blue-Beary. She appreciates the pun. She rolls back closer to the phone and turns the bear over in her hands.

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “That was the girl.”

_The_ girl. The only girl who ever really mattered.

Rebecca clears her throat. “What do you need advice about, Jillian?”

Jillian runs her thumb over Blue-Beary’s worn smile. “I thought she was the one.”

“Erin,” Rebecca clarifies.

“Yeah. I thought she was the one, but she hurt me, Becca. You saw. The entire time you’ve known me, I’ve been hurting because of her.”

Rebecca makes a noise of agreement.

“She hurt me. She still hurts me. But I think a part of me still loves her, even though I have no right to. I saw her, last month, and I just…I love her, Becca. Even now. Even after everything. It’s _her_. It’s Erin.”

There are a few seconds of silence. “Amber is a nice girl,” Rebecca says finally, “and the human heart is fragile, Jillian. Surely, you know that.”

Jillian does. She knows what it’s like to love someone who doesn’t fully love you back. “I know,” she says, almost inaudibly. “I don’t know what to do. I love Amber.”

“As you should, considering she is your fiancée,” Rebecca says dryly.

Jillian swallows. “But if Erin showed up at my door, I would go with her in a heartbeat. I know I would.”

“I don’t know what you have come to me in search of, Jillian, but I hope it is not approval. I’m sure you have arrived at the same two outcomes that I have. It is unacceptable to let a woman destroy what you have built with Amber, not when you have the control to stop it. The only question is whether you shut this whole operation down now, to prevent a meltdown from ever occurring, or you ignore the warning signs and let it reach…” She pauses like she’s trying to figure out what to say, then sighs… “a critical state.”

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Jillian can’t stop a tiny smirk from quirking her mouth. “Please tell me you didn’t just use a nuclear reactor analogy on me.”

Rebecca huffs loudly like she regrets it. “Make your choice, Jillian, but remember that this time, you are responsible for the consequences.”

Jillian nods even though Rebecca won’t be able to see it, her throat tight. This is why she wanted to talk to her. She knew she would tell her what she needed to hear.

“Thanks, Rebecca,” she says with the voice of someone about to head to their own execution. She sets Blue-Beary back down in the corner.

There’s one last long hesitation, and then Rebecca sighs again. “Consider your options wisely, Jillian, and please aim for the least damage possible. I would hate to see you get hurt again.”

The sentiment is uncharacteristically tender for Rebecca, and Jillian gets choked up.

“Me too,” she says, but even as she says it she knows that it might be unavoidable this time.

 

Erin spends a month and a half moping about the fact that she walked away from the woman she was (unknowingly) in love with and that she’s never getting her back. She missed her chance long ago. She never even really deserved a chance with her. Jillian can do better. She _is_ doing better.

Erin doesn’t know what to do with herself. She doesn’t know how she’s supposed to get over someone who was never really hers, who she had a chance with but blew it, who she didn’t even know she loved until after she was gone.

She needs to move on, too.

Somehow, she needs to move on. She doesn’t know how, but she needs to.

She needs to forget about Jillian, push her out again, like she did with her before. Like she did with the book. Deny it so it will stop hurting her. Pretend it never happened. Pretend Jillian never existed. Pretend she never realized she’s anything but straight.

At the end of November, she approaches a fellow professor who she’s always admired. He’s perfectly average looking, smart, well-respected. The kind of man who could further her career. His name is Phil.

She flirts with him.

He asks her out, takes her to dinner, doesn’t let her talk much. He reminds her of that guy she went out with in college. He talks down to her like she’s a child and not one of the smartest physicists at Columbia.

He’s far from perfect, far from ideal, far from _passable_ , even, but she’s getting older and running out of time and she’s desperate to _forget_.

She goes out on a second date with him.

 

Amber gets home from Croatia. Holtz picks her up from the airport and kisses her even though she knows she shouldn’t.

When they get back, they make and eat dinner, and Holtz listens quietly to all her stories about Croatia.

Later, Amber sidles up beside her and kisses her neck as Holtz is drying dishes. She knows what that means.

“Aren’t you tired from travelling all day?” she says, trying to keep her voice even. It still shakes a bit.

“Sure,” Amber says, “but I’ve been gone for a month and I’ve _missed_ you, love.”

Holtz’s breath hitches and Amber misinterprets it as arousal. She pulls the plate in Holtz’s hand from her and sets it on the counter with the towel and tugs Holtz by the hand to the bedroom, where she pushes her onto her back on the mattress.

Holtz props herself up on her elbows. “Amber…” Her voice is low.

“No time for foreplay,” Amber says, leaning down to kiss her.

Holtz gently pushes her away. “Not tonight. I’m sorry.”

Amber sits back on her heels. “What? Why? You on your period? That’s okay, hon. We can just do me, alright?”

“No, that’s not—I just—not tonight.”

Amber studies her. “You’ve never turned down sex. Never. What’s going on?”

Holtz shifts so she’s sitting cross-legged and lets Amber sit down across from her. She stares at the bed between them, reaches out, takes both of Amber’s hands in hers. Her eyes fill with tears. She didn’t want to do this today, not right after Amber’s returned home from her trip.

There’s never going to be a good time, though, she realizes.

“Jillian? What’s going on?” Amber says again. “You’re scaring me.”

“I—I’m sorry.” Holtz closes her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Ji—look at me.”

Holtz opens her watery eyes.

“Did you cheat on me?” Amber says with uncharacteristic sharpness.

Holtz shakes her head quickly and crumples. “No,” she says, even though she might as well have.

“Then what the hell is going on?”

“I’m sorry,” Holtz whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“For _what?”_

“I can’t—” She breaks off, her throat too tight to continue. She squeezes Amber’s hands tighter, runs her thumb along the ring. “I can’t do this anymore,” she chokes out.

“Do _what?”_

“This. Us. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Amber. I love you. I’m sorry.”

“Stop—” Amber pulls her hands from Holtz’s grasp. The loss fills Holtz with an empty feeling— “stop sayin’ you’re sorry. I don’t understand. What do you mean you can’t do this anymore?”

“Exactly what you think,” Holtz says dully. “Please don’t make me say it.”

“No,” Amber says, crossing her arms. “Say it.”

“I—we—we have to break up,” Holtz says shakily.

“We’re _engaged_.”

“I know,” she says quietly.

“I don’t understand,” Amber says again. “Did you meet someone else?”

“Yes,” Holtz says. “I met you.”

Amber shakes her head. “What the hell does that mean?”

“There was a girl,” Holtz says, choosing her words carefully, “a long time ago. Before I met you. I loved her. And I never stopped.”

Amber stares at her. “But you said you loved me.”

“I do,” Holtz says, the tears flowing freely now. “I do love you, more than words can express. I meant every word I ever said to you. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But I—there’s a part of me that still loves her. My whole heart doesn’t belong to you, and it never will, and you don’t deserve that. You deserve so much more than that, Amber. You deserve the entire world, and I can’t give it to you. I’m so sorry.”

When Amber speaks next, her voice shakes. “Why the fuck did you have to tell me that? You could’ve kept that to yourself. We could’ve gotten married like we’re supposed to. We could’ve been _happy_ , and grown old together, and I could’ve gone my entire life without ever knowin’.”

Holtz can hardly meet her eyes. “But I would’ve known.”

“So? If you really loved me as much as you say, maybe you should’ve sucked it the hell up and taken one for the team.”

Holtz looks up, finally. “Is that really what you’d want?”

Amber holds her gaze for a few seconds, then licks her lips and shakes her head. “No. You’re right. That’s a terrible plan.”

They’re silent.

“So now what?” Amber says. “You gonna go be with her?”

Holtz shakes her head, looking back at the mattress. “She left. A long time ago. She’s had a lot of chances to come back, to fix things, and she hasn’t. She doesn’t want me. She never has.”

“So what was the point of ruinin’ what we have?” Amber says.

Holtz looks up again. “I want her,” she says simply. “That’s enough of a reason to call this off. And if she ever decided she wanted me, too…I would take her back. I might never get the chance, and it’s very possible that I’ve just ended the best relationship of my life for nothing, ruined my chances of growing old with someone at my side, my chance to be happy, but that’s my problem now. Because if I do ever get the chance to be with her again, I’m taking it, regardless of who I’m with. And that’s not fair to you. Or anyone, for that matter.”

“So you’re just going to be alone forever on the off chance she shows up at your door out of the blue one day and wants you back?”

Holtz nods. “Doesn’t sound that great when you put it that way, but yeah.”

“It makes you sound like an idiot,” Amber says, and there’s a hint of a smile on her face.

Holtz gives a feeble smile back. “I know.”

They fall quiet.

Amber looks down and fiddles with the band on her finger. “Guess I should take this off.”

“I’m sorry,” Holtz says. “Really. I love you.”

Amber smiles sadly. “Stop saying that. You’re just makin’ this harder.”

Holtz bites her tongue.

Amber works the ring off her finger and holds it between her thumb and index finger. “I’m gonna have to take this back to my parents. That’s humiliating.”

Holtz winces.

“And oh,” Amber groans, “everyone’s gonna see it on Facebook.”

“I’m sorry,” Holtz says again. “If it helps, you could tell everyone how crazy I am.”

Amber gives her a look. “That’s not a story, that’s just the truth.”

Holtz chuckles. “I know.” She pauses. “Listen, I’ll pay for all the wedding deposits we put down.”

“Okay.” Amber shakes her head. “Good thing I didn’t find a dress, yet.”

Holtz frowns. “You said you did.”

Amber opens her mouth, then closes it. “I know.”

Holtz doesn’t really know what to make of that. Why would she lie? Did she have a feeling that the wedding would fall through?

She can tell that Amber really doesn’t want her to ask why, so she doesn’t.

They sit there for a while longer while Amber fiddles with the ring.

“You probably want to be alone,” Holtz says finally. “I can go stay at Abby’s.”

“You don’t have to,” Amber says.

“But I should.”

They stand. Holtz throws some clothes and toiletries into a duffle bag. She can come get the rest of her stuff tomorrow.

She puts on her coat, boots, slings the bag over her shoulder.

“Guess there’s nothing I can do to convince you to stay,” Amber says by the door.

Holtz hesitates, then shakes her head. “You know this is the right thing.”

“I know. I don’t want to, but I do. It’ll take some time, I think.”

“Yeah.” Holtz scuffs her boot on the floor. “Hey, do me a favour…when I inevitably come crawling back and beg you to give me a second chance…don’t. Alright?”

Amber considers her sadly. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s probably smart.”

“Because I’m probably going to wake up tomorrow and try to convince myself that I made a huge mistake by letting you go.”

“You _are_ making a huge mistake,” Amber says with a light laugh. “I’m a damn catch. So are you.”

Holtz nods, swallows. “You are. And walking away from you is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

“Then don’t,” Amber whispers.

“I have to,” Holtz whispers back.

Amber lowers her head in acknowledgement that it’s the truth.

Holtz leaves.

She shows up at Abby’s apartment. Abby looks confused as hell to see her.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was wondering if I could crash here for a while,” Holtz says, stepping past her into the apartment.

“How long is a while?”

Holtz shrugs as she drops her duffle bag just inside the door. “Well, I just broke off my engagement and broke up with Amber, so…a while.”

Abby looks stunned. “You what?”

They end up bringing out some vodka and the entire truth comes out with it. Holtz spills everything she never told Abby about Erin, about how she was at MIT, how she saw her at Columbia with Amber, how she still loves her.

“You know what? Screw Erin,” Abby says, late into the night. She hiccups drunkenly. “Screw her for still messing up your life.”

Holtz isn’t entirely sure she still shares the same sentiment, but she toasts to that anyway because she’s drunk and sad and just broke things off with her fiancée.

“You know what—you know what we should do?” Holtz says. “We should fucking—we should publish that fucking book. Just to spite her.”

“Yes! Yes!” Abby says, slamming her fist on the arm of the couch. “Our research has been going so well! Everyone should know!”

“Yeah!” Holtz says loudly, too loudly. “Screw Erin,” she says. “Screw her.”

The next day, when she’s hungover and full of regret, she calls Rebecca and Connie to tell them the news. Connie is shocked. Rebecca is not. She calls Mark, too, and he sounds very disappointed.

Over the next few days, she gets phone calls and texts from Rebecca and Connie (mostly Connie) every hour, checking up on her, making sure she’s not heading into another complete breakdown. Mark calls, too. Abby keeps a careful eye on her.

They all think she’s going to spiral again.

She’s not.

She’s not the kind of person who does that, anymore. Jillian Fucking Holtzmann, PhD, and she knows herself better than anyone. She’s got years of therapy under her belt, coping mechanisms, a support system. She’s not broken. She’s not a mess.

She’s just a woman with a broken heart, and that’s nothing new. All that’s new is that she did it to herself, this time. And that’s not that new either.

She goes back to the apartment, packs up her stuff with Abby. It’s not as awkward as she might’ve expected. She thinks that Amber knows just as well as she does that this is for the best, even though it’s going to hurt like hell for now.

As she’s emptying her drawers in the desk, she comes across a metal chain, a circular pendant. She holds it in her hand, stares at it. Remembers.

She keeps it in her hand, fingers wrapped around it tightly, as Abby takes the last box of her stuff out and leaves her and Amber by the door.

Holtz looks at her for what’s probably the last time, she realizes.

Amber seems sad. “Take care of yourself, Jillian,” she says, then she leans in to press one last kiss to Holtz’s cheek.

“You too,” Holtz says, and hopes that Amber knows how much she means it.

Then she turns, and she walks away and leaves Amber behind, and as she does, she fastens the necklace around her neck and lets it fall heavy to her chest once more.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. One year ago today (July 22), I made my debut as a fic writer (in this fandom, but also in general) when I posted the first chapter of [The Holtzmann Problem](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12064253/1/The-Holtzmann-Problem) on ffnet. When I hit post, I had no clue what was going to happen. I didn't know it would explode with hits and reviews (a year later, that story has over 30,000 hits combined on ffnet and AO3. It's unbelievable). I didn't know the fandom would instantly welcome and embrace me and my writing. I didn't know this fandom would become like a little family to me. And I certainly didn't think that I'd still be here a year later, still writing this goofy ship and pouring my heart and soul into these fics. This one in particular has taken a lot out of me to write over the past two months and I am so goddamn grateful that you guys have stuck with me for a year, read my fics, commented, left kudos, subscribed, shared, and have given me a reason to keep writing so I could be here writing this fic a year later, which I love so much and hope you love too. I love you all so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
> 
> On that note, buckle your seatbelts: the moment you've been waiting for is finally upon us. You know what's coming next.
> 
> xo, Maddie (holtzbabe)


	15. just know that I want you back

ix.

Erin’s life isn’t great, but it _is_ normal.

She may cry herself to sleep at least once a week because she can’t stop thinking about Jillian no matter what she does, but in theory she has everything she always wanted. She’s still dating Phil, and while she isn’t happy with him, per se, she _is_ happier than she was without him. She’s still working at Columbia, and while she doesn’t get a whole lot of respect from her (mostly male) colleagues, she _is_ on track to receive tenure before the year is over.

She knows one day she’ll stop thinking about Jillian. One day, she’ll be married to Phil, tenured at Columbia, and she’ll be able to forget that she ever felt like a gigantic piece of her life was missing. One day, she’ll be able to convince herself that she can be happy without her. One day.

 

The months after Holtz breaks off her engagement are rough, but she never falls apart. The closest she comes is in July, when the twentieth anniversary of her mom’s death hits. She spends the entire month in Battle Creek, and on the 15th she goes to the scene of the accident, where there’s no longer a marker of any kind and the highway has been repaved and repainted. Then she goes to the cemetery for the first time since the funeral two decades ago, and she sits cross-legged in front of the modest plaque and spends several hours telling her mom about everything she’s done in the past twenty years. She tells her about high school, about the science fair, about prom, about graduation, about college, about MIT, about bartending, about the bike, about the explosion, about Luke, about Rebecca and Connie, about Abby.

She comes out to her, even though her mom had a way of knowing those kinds of things and probably already had a hunch even before she did.

She tells her about Amber.

She tells her about Erin.

She tells her everything about Erin. All of it. She tells her how she’s forgiven her for not believing that Erin existed. She tells her about their adventures at camp, at college. She tells her about their ghost research and the book. She tells her about their first kiss, about when they lost their virginity together. She tells her about when she realized she was in love with her. She tells her about Erin leaving and returning, leaving and returning, leaving and returning.

She tells her how she loved Amber, but that Erin will always be her entire universe.

Her mom listens.

Her mom doesn’t judge her.

Her mom is a comfort.

Her mom offers support beneath her, solid ground.

She doesn’t leave her mom flowers because she was allergic. She does, however, claw a small, shallow grave at the base of the plaque, and she lays Marge the hula dancer’s tiny, shaking body to rest at long last. She doesn’t have anything to say, no prepared words, but she pats a handful of dirt over the grave, stands, says goodbye, and leaves.

 

Erin turns thirty-seven. Phil takes her out to dinner, but he ends up yelling at the server when his meal comes out incorrectly, and Erin is so embarrassed that the whole evening is pretty much ruined.

As the summer winds down and she prepares for another school year, she gets news that she’s being published. Phil is pleased. He only ever seems pleased with her when she accomplishes something academically, so she works harder, pushes herself, tries to win his approval. If only she could nail down this tenure. _Then_ he’ll be truly proud. Maybe he’ll even consider her accomplished enough to be worth marrying.

She’s kicking off the year with a special lecture in the big hall, which she hasn’t lectured in in years, not since she started teaching upper level particle physics courses that typically only have a handful of students. This is a real lecture, though, that people outside of the department, including visiting physicists from other institutions, will be attending. She’s nervous. She spends the days leading up to the lecture practicing in front of the mirror in her apartment. She doesn’t tell Phil about it because she likes to play it cool, mention her academic accomplishments in a blasé way like she doesn’t care about them at all. She never knows what he’s going to find impressive, so she doesn’t want to appear too excited about something only to find out that he considers it trivial and mediocre, barely worth celebrating.

When she tells him about the big hall on the morning of the lecture, though, he seems thrilled. He doesn’t make any promises to stop in for it, but she tries not to be too disappointed. He’s a busy man with lots of important things to do, more important than her silly little lecture.

Luckily, there’s no class in the big hall before her lecture, so she arrives an hour and a half early to fill the whiteboard with the accompanying calculations to her talk, and then she rehearses it again. She pictures the hall filled with inquisitive students, well-respected physicists clambering to get her attention, fellow professors who’ll be wowed by her research. Her work has already been making waves in the scientific community, but some of the theories she’s dropping today are still relatively unknown, and the topic of her journal article that’s being published. With any luck, she’ll break some brains today, and hopefully impress the board in this last push of her tenure review.

She’s warming up, trying to shake her nerves, when a man materializes behind her. She nearly has a heart attack.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I need to speak to you about something you wrote.”

Embarrassed, she busies herself by flipping through her notes. What is he doing here ahead of the lecture? That’s what the question period is for.

“I’m sorry. What publication?” She tries to force a smile onto her face.

“I’m talking about your book,” he says, voice confused.

Her smile bleeds off her face and all the blood in her body goes with it. Her eye twitches.

Book.

Her book.

No. No, he must have her confused with someone else. There’s no way he means _the_ book. It has to be a mistake. It _has_ to be.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean,” she says, trying to keep her voice even despite the panic curdling in her stomach. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my class will be here any minute.”

She tries to walk away. He follows, holding up a thick book that she recognizes immediately. She feels like she’s going to pass out.

“You’re Erin Gilbert, right? Co-author of _Ghosts from Our Past: Both Literally and Figuratively: A Study of the Paranormal?_ ”

_Deny, deny, deny._

“I think you’re looking for a different Erin Gilbert,” she says. It’s true. That Erin Gilbert doesn’t exist anymore. Dr. Erin Gilbert never wrote a book about ghosts, never believed in ghosts, never saw a ghost.

“This really does look like you.” He holds the book up by her face, open to the back flap, and looks back and forth between the author photo and her.

“What? No.” She cranes her head to see the photo, catches a glimpse of her circa 2002, and below that, Jillian at twenty-one in her matching black turtleneck, yellow glasses shielding her eyes, blonde hair down. They had persuaded her to wear it down for the photos.

Her breath catches and she tears her eyes away quickly before she can get emotional.

“Yeah, that’s me,” she says quietly. She pushes the book down, out of her face. “Look, it was a very long time ago, and it was just a gag between my friends and I,” she lies.

He still won’t drop it. “A 460-page gag?”

She sighs. Why can’t he just leave her alone? She needs to regroup and pull herself together before her lecture starts. “What do you want?”

He introduces himself as Ed Mulgrave and says that he thinks the building he works at, the Aldridge Mansion, is haunted. _Haunted_. She resists the urge to roll her eyes, to tell him that he should go home, that ghosts aren’t real.

_But what if he’s telling the truth?_ a tiny voice in the back of her head says. She ignores it.

It doesn’t matter, anyway. That book is science fiction. She tells him that. She doesn’t even know where he got it. Abby still had the raw manuscript, but Erin had assumed that they wouldn’t go ahead with publishing any more copies of the book or promoting it further after she left. She saw that interview. How could they have gone forward after that? They were turned into laughingstocks.

Her stomach twists with familiar guilt.

The man, Ed, tells her that he found his copy on Amazon. _Amazon_. Where _anybody_ can buy it.

Now she’s not feeling guilty.

No, now she’s angry.

How could they? How could they have published her work without consulting her? Did they not put the pieces together and figure out why she had run away in the first place? How could they _do_ this to her?

Ed must be able to sense that she’s angry, because he backs off and apologizes for bothering her.

The first students file in for her lecture, and she’s so distracted that she barely has time to compose herself. She manages to get through it because she’s practiced enough that she could do it through an apocalypse, but she’s distracted the entire time and fumbles her way through a few questions at the end before she cuts it short and dismisses everyone.

She packs up her notes in a hurry and curses internally when some of the visiting physicists who stopped in approach her as she’s trying to duck out.

“Excellent lecture, Dr. Gilbert,” Dr. Wing says. “I was particularly fascinated by your research into—”

“I’m sorry, but I have another lecture to run to,” Erin says quickly. “I’d love to chat more before you leave, though.”

Dr. Wing hums judgementally and exchanges a glance with Dr. Brown. “Perhaps we could get lunch after your…lecture.”

“Yes! Yes, that would be great!” Erin’s grip on her briefcase tightens. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

She pushes past them and realizes after she’s left the lecture hall that they didn’t even agree on a time or place to meet. Oh well. They’ll find her. She speed-walks to her office, dodging a question from the physics department receptionist, Mary, about how the lecture went, and then she throws her briefcase down and pulls up Amazon.

She types in the title, hits enter, and prays.

The page loads, and there it is, in all its career-ruining glory.

Worse than that, it’s got her name all over it, including a _recent_ photo of her. Where the hell did they find that? It’s her Columbia staff photo. Aside from the missing title in front of her name, it’s unmistakably her. Anyone would be able to tell right away.

Worse, right below her picture are the words: _GHOSTS ARE REAL!_

“No, no, no, no, no. I’m going to kill you guys,” she says to herself.

Before she can properly process any of this, there’s a knock on her door and the dean, Dr. Filmore, steps in.

Hurriedly, she shoves her computer monitor so the screen is angled as far away from him as possible and disguises the movement as a stretch.

“We’re set for the final review of your tenure case on Thursday,” he says with no opening pleasantries.

Thursday? This Thursday? After all the months of this process, she’s finally being given a final review date? She can hardly believe it. Wait until she tells Phil.

She feels sick suddenly as she remembers what’s on her screen.

This could cost her everything if it falls into the wrong hands. Forget about tenure, she could be _fired_ if they found out about this.

He’s still talking. “But I saw that you had a recommendation letter from Dr. Branum at Princeton.”

Her thesis advisor after Professor Anschutz had dropped her. The letter he wrote had nothing but praise. She frowns. What’s wrong with it? Was there something she missed that linked her to the book? Did Professor Anschutz tell him about it? Did Dr. Filmore find out?

“Their science department is really not what it used to be, and I would consider getting a referral from a more prestigious college.”

“More prestigious than Princeton?” she says before she can stop herself, but the last word dies on her tongue.

Dr. Filmore turns and clicks his tongue. “Yes.”

She grabs a file folder and holds it up so it’s semi-blocking her computer screen and tries to look casual.

Her gives her a look anyway. “You see, I think you’re an asset to modern physics.” He comes closer, leans down, stares at her. “I would hate to see you throw it down the drain.”

Her mouth has gone dry. Throw it down the drain by, say, an embarrassing book written fifteen years ago being shown to the world?

“I won’t,” she promises.

Not if she has any say in it.

As soon as he’s gone again, she turns her screen back and clicks over from her author blurb to the next one.

A recent author photo of Jillian appears. Same black turtleneck, but her hair is in the same wild style that she wears now. She’s wearing her yellow glasses, and a second pair of yellow goggles rest on her head in amongst the nest of blonde curls. Her smile is wide, crazed. Her hands are on her hips.

Erin reads the bio underneath the photo. _A TRUE GENIUS_ , her tagline says. Her blurb says that she got her PhD in nuclear engineering from MIT. She’s Dr. Jillian Holtzmann now. That’s weird to think about.

She clicks over to Abby next, who has a similar author photo, clearly taken in the same spot. She’s also wearing her turtleneck, but she has her arms crossed. She has new, more modern glasses. It’s strange seeing her. She looks the same as ever, but different. She also has her PhD. From Yale. Erin feels a brief surge of pride for her best friends’ success before she remembers she’s supposed to be mad at them.

One line is the same in both their bios. It says they’re both continuing their passion for the study of the paranormal at the Kenneth P. Higgins Institute of Science, right here in the city.

There’s only one thing to do.

She has to go.

She has to confront them.

She barely makes it through her shaky lunch with the visiting professors, her afternoon class, and a meeting with a student.

As soon as she’s free, she goes straight out and hails a cab.

The Kenneth P. Higgins Institute of Science is considerably less classy than the name would suggest. The building itself is nice on the outside, but inside it has the vibe of a high school. There are students locked in fistfights, the odour of marijuana is omnipresent, and graffiti covers every free surface. She holds her briefcase tight to her body as she checks the directory and makes her way down to the basement.

Then she’s standing in front of a maroon door with a posted sign that says _DO NOT WRITE STUPID THINGS ON THIS DOOR_. There’s a placard with the words _PARANORMAL STUDIES LABORATORY_ , unbelievably, and below that are two very familiar names, although the matching titles in front of them do make them feel a little bit foreign.

For a few seconds, she’s not sure if she can do this. Face them. Face _Jillian_.

Then she remembers her tenure, remembers everything she’s worked for, remembers the reasons why she sacrificed all of this, and she swallows her nerves, rolls her shoulders back, takes a deep inhalation, and steps inside.

 

There’s a knock at the door of the lab, and one word, one word that changes everything.

Holtz can’t see her, but she knows it’s her from that ‘hello’ alone. She knows it’s her by her voice. She knows it’s her by the way all the energy in the room magnetizes to the door, like the pull of the universe has shifted the second she stepped inside.

Or maybe it’s just Holtz’s universe.

Abby doesn’t recognize her by her voice, but Abby also has lunch on the brain and she hasn’t seen Erin in fifteen years.

Holtz watches Abby round the corner and she can pinpoint the moment she must see Erin, because her face drops.

“Well, well, well…Erin.” Abby strides out of view again, towards the door, towards Erin.

“Abby,” Erin says.

“Bennie…” a third voice says.

Bennie’s here too? Holtz wishes she could see what was going on. She feels like she’s missed her chance to make her presence known, to stand up. She’s stuck, safely sheltered behind a machine that—like most equipment in the room—is only here because of calculations Erin did in her youth.

Erin.

Why is she even here? Did she come looking for Holtz?

What if she leaves because she thinks Holtz isn’t here? Holtz needs to be able to talk to her. She’ll run after her, if she has to. She won’t let her go anywhere. Not this time.

“You put our book online without my permission,” Erin says. She sounds angry.

Oh. That’s why she’s here.

Holtz knew this would happen. She tried to pull the plug, but Abby was quick to remind her that publishing the book again was her idea. How could she argue with that? Besides, a part of her wondered if Erin would come if she found out. She took the chance.

“We don’t need your permission,” Abby says.

“Of course you need my permission! I wrote that book with you guys. My name is on it,” Erin says. “Look, I’m up for tenure right now.”

Despite it all, Holtz is excited for Erin. That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? The perfect career in academia?

“That book was our baby,” Abby says, “and you abandoned that baby before it even learned to fly.”

Abandoned them, she means. The book was never the important part.

“There’s no experimental backing for anything in that book,” Erin says, “and it makes me look like a crazy person!”

Holtz winces. Erin couldn’t be more wrong about the first statement, but the second hits home. Erin spent her whole childhood being called crazy. Of course she’s still worried about that. Holtz wonders if that’s the real issue here, more than her promised tenure being at stake.

“God, are you kidding me?” Abby says suddenly in the tone of voice she reserves for food crises. There’s probably a problem with her soup. It’s always something when Bennie’s delivering.

“What?!” Erin sounds rightfully exasperated.

“I got one wonton!” Bingo. “I got a tub of soup, and one split wonton. Look at that, just floating there.”

“I’m sorry you’re having a soup crisis right now,” Erin says dryly.

“There’s not even any meat in there. That’s just a carrot.” Abby steps back into view, already reaching for her phone. Holtz knows she’ll be distracted until she gets Bennie back here with a better order. She takes her soup seriously.

“Abby, please,” Erin says as Abby holds the phone to her ear and starts walking away. “Abby!”

Then Erin storms forward and comes into view for the first time, and Holtz’s breath catches.

She’s wearing a suit, a tweed suit that’s so un-Erin that Holtz almost laughs. She looks so stiff, so tense, so uncomfortable in her own skin. In her hand, she’s got the briefcase that she’s had since high school, the one she spent her earnings from waitressing on. She sets it down, clearly intending to wait out Abby’s soup crisis for as long as it takes.

This is Holtz’s chance. Her hands shake, and she grabs a blowtorch just to steady them.

Part of her, a big part of her, wants to stand up and yell at her, ask the question that’s plagued her for fifteen years, demand an answer as to how she could’ve ever justified leaving like she did.

Another part of her wants to throw herself in front of Erin dramatically, confess her love for her, lay it all out there.

And yet another part of her wants to treat Erin like her presence doesn’t mean anything, like Holtz has moved on, like she doesn’t still think about her every day, like she couldn’t care less that she’s standing in her lab right now.

Her brain settles on some sort of combination of the three, and before she can stop herself she says what she always says, what she says to every other woman that comes across her path.

“Come here often?”

She flicks the blowtorch on more out of habit than anything as she says it, and Erin turns so fast she might break her neck, and their eyes connect across the room, and Holtz immediately regrets what she said.

Erin is not just some random woman to flirt with, to charm. Erin is not every other woman. Erin is _Erin._

She sees Erin stop breathing for a moment, and her face is a thousand emotions all at once. “Jillian,” she says, and Holtz can tell that she’s trying hard to sound indifferent. The waver in her voice betrays her.

Holtz turns off the blowtorch, sets it down, rises. “Holtzmann,” she corrects. Erin lost all right to call her Jillian a long time ago.

“Oh,” Erin says, her voice pained.

She tugs off her outer pair of protective gloves as she moves closer. Is it Holtz’s imagination, or do Erin’s eyes flicker to Holtz’s left hand for a brief second?

She studies Erin’s face, commits to memory all the changes, the ways she’s aged since the last time Holtz saw her, all the details she wasn’t able to take in when she saw her at MIT.

She’s still so fucking beautiful.

“Stay away from her,” Abby says sharply as she returns from her phone call, and Holtz isn’t sure who the warning is meant for. She reaches Holtz’s side and wedges herself slightly in front of her protectively.

“Abby…” Erin says quietly.

“No,” Abby says. “I mean it. You shouldn’t even be allowed to talk to her. She’s doing just fine without you. _Better_ without you. We both are.”

Holtz quietly removes her glasses and folds them up.

“I’m…glad to hear it,” Erin says tightly.

“Seriously, we’ve been doing incredible things since you left. Holtzmann is a _brilliant_ engineer. She was almost hired by CERN.”

Holtz can tell that Abby regrets bringing it up the second the words are out of her mouth.

“That’s…very impressive. What happened?” Erin says.

Holtz grits her teeth. “There was a lab incident.”

Something flashes across Erin’s face. Something that looks a lot like pain. Holtz tries to process that.

“He’s gonna wake up,” Abby says gently.

Dale. He’s still comatose. His family is holding out hope, as is she, but after five years with no improvement, things don’t look the most promising. Every time Holtz is back in Boston, she swings by the long-term facility he’s in to visit and drop off flowers he’ll never see.

Erin looks like she wants to say something, but then changes her mind. “Can we…get back to our conversation?”

Holtz is more than willing to discuss taking down the book, but Abby has other ideas.

“Oh, gosh, that sounds like a great time, but we’re gonna have to say no. We’re really busy here actualizing what we only theorized about in our book.”

“Really?” Erin almost sounds curious. Almost.

“Yeah. We’re incredibly close on the hollow laser for the reverse tractor beam.”

“You’re making a reverse tractor beam?”

“Sure are,” Holtz says. Maybe, just maybe, they can pull Erin back in with it.

Erin shakes her head as if she heard Holtz’s thought. “Well, I don’t know what you hope to achieve with that.”

“Capturing a paranormal entity, obviously,” Abby says.

Erin just stares. “I can’t believe you guys _still_ believe this nonsense.”

“You _don’t?”_ Holtz says, a little shocked. Sure, she knew Erin put the book and all their research behind her, but how could she stop _believing_ in it? How could she deny the ghost that haunted her all those years ago?

She has a flash of a much younger Erin, sitting on the floor beside her in Cabin 13.

_“Sometimes I wonder if they’re real at all. What if I’m just crazy?”_

Has she really lost all faith in herself, in her memories? Or has she just managed to convince herself of a lie?

Erin presses her lips together and shakes her head.

“If you don’t believe in this stuff anymore, then why were you looking for the book?” Abby says.

Holtz is still half-hoping she’ll say that she was looking for _them_ , not the book.

No such luck.

“A man came to see me—at my _work—_ saying his building was haunted.”

The two of them exchange a glance.

“What building?” Abby says.

“The Aldridge Mansion,” Erin says.

That’s all it takes. Everything personal is put on hold. If there’s a ghost—or even the _chance_ of there being a ghost—this stuff with Erin and the book can wait. This could be the break they’ve been waiting for.

Erin doesn’t seem to agree. “You’re _going?”_

Holtz shrugs, doesn’t meet her eyes as they bustle around the lab gathering their gear.

Abby takes the pack with all their equipment. “I’m gonna go get us a cab. You lock up.”

“Roger that,” Holtz says.

Then Abby’s gone.

And it’s just Erin and her.

“Come on,” Holtz says, “I need to lock the door.”

Erin crosses her arms. “No, I’m not letting you go anywhere until we talk.”

Holtz folds her own arms to match Erin’s stance. “Talk about what? The book? Come on, that’s not important right now, not when there’s a maybe-ghost terrorizing people.”

“There’s no ghost,” Erin mutters.

“There _could_ be,” Holtz says. “Are you really one to throw out the possibility?”

“Yeah,” Erin says, “I am.”

“Guess you’re not the same Erin Gilbert that I once knew, then,” Holtz says, her voice hard.

“Guess not.”

There are a few seconds of silence.

“What do you want, Erin?” The name feels foreign on her tongue.

“I want you to take the book down.”

Holtz gives her a long look. “Well, we’re not going to, so you can give that a rest.” She was open to the idea before, but now Erin is starting to get her riled up. How dare she be so… _unaffected_ by Holtz’s presence? Does she just not _care_ about the fact that this is their first time talking in fifteen years?

“What do you mean, you’re not going to?”

“It means no. Alright? Now get out of our lab. We’re wasting time. We could already be there, catching a ghost.”

Erin huffs. “Why are _you_ the one getting angry? I’m the one who’s supposed to be angry. You put our book online without asking me.”

“Oh, _I_ don’t deserve to be angry? You’re seriously going to say that?” Holtz shakes her head in disbelief. “Erin, you _left._ You forfeited _all_ your rights regarding that book, and you _definitely_ forfeited your rights to be angry at _us._ ”

“Don’t tell me what I’m allowed to feel.”

“You _left,”_ Holtz repeats. “You left us. You left _me._ ”

“You left me first,” Erin says, her voice raw.

It takes Holtz a second to respond as she tries to figure out what the hell she means by that. “Are you talking about when I was _ten?_ I didn’t have a choice, Erin!”

“Neither did I!”

Holtz laughs. “Bullshit. You really think that my parents pulling me out of school is the same as you purposefully turning your back on us? Abandoning us right before a public interview? Not even _calling?_ Not giving us any indication that you were still _alive?”_

“You never called either,” Erin says quietly.

“I was _ten.”_ Holtz shakes her head. “I can’t believe I’m _arguing_ about this with you. Jesus. I’m leaving. Just close the door to lock it. I’m not wasting any more time on this.”

She turns to leave.

“Jillian, wait,” Erin says, and she sounds so desperate that Holtz turns back. There are tears in Erin’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I had no choice. I had to.”

Holtz considers her for a long pause. When she finally speaks, her voice is measured, every word deliberate. “I understand that you had reasons for abandoning the book. But you had a choice. You didn’t have to abandon us, too.”

Erin opens her mouth, closes it. She hangs her head and nods.

Holtz leaves.

She doesn’t realize Erin is following her until she gets outside to the taxi, where Abby is hanging out the passenger’s seat window and motioning for her to run faster.

“What the hell is she still doing here?” she calls.

Holtz looks over her shoulder and falters when she sees Erin there, briefcase and everything.

“I’m coming with you,” Erin says firmly.

They’re both too stunned to reply for a few seconds.

“Okay,” Abby says finally. “Get in the car.”

The two of them end up in the back seat of the van. Erin sits stiffly with her ankles crossed and her briefcase on her lap. Holtz stares out the opposite window and resists the urge to say something.

What is she supposed to say?

She didn’t know Erin was going to show up today.

It’s not like she hasn’t been dreaming up scenarios like this for _months_ now, rehearsing exactly how it would go down, but in all those fantasies, Erin took one look at her and realized she was in love with her and begged for her back.

And that’s clearly not happening.

“I did call,” Erin says quietly. “Your machine must’ve erased the message.”

Holtz looks at her. She knows Erin is lying.

“What about at MIT, then? What technology was to blame for the silent treatment there, huh?”

Erin pinks.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Holtz mutters.

“Don’t give her any attention,” Abby says.

“You’re the one who let her come.”

“Only so she can introduce us to this guy at the Aldridge Mansion.”

Holtz sighs. “Fine.”

The three of them are quiet for the rest of the drive. Outside the supposedly-haunted building, they find the tour guide who saw the ghost, as well as the man who visited Erin. They’re directed inside, and Holtz is very aware of the fact that Erin has followed them.

Maybe she still wants to find out if ghosts are real just as much as they do. Maybe she just doesn’t want to leave them until they agree to take the book down. Maybe it’s a combination of the two.

They unload their equipment. Abby gets out the PKE meter that Holtz built a few years back. Holtz starts recording on the video camera that they’ve borrowed from the Higgins Institute as they make their way through the historic house, and tucks a can of Pringles under her arm for later.

Erin asks them questions about their gear, acts like there isn’t this massive Thing between them, like they don’t have decades of history, like they’re just complete strangers searching for a ghost together.

Screw that.

Erin wants to pretend like none of it ever happened?

Holtz isn’t going to let her.

She pans the camera to Erin’s face, if only so she has something to look back over later when Erin inevitably leaves again. Then she directs the camera to the collar of Erin’s shirt and decides to play hard. “Where did you find such a tiny little bowtie?”

Erin stiffens, and Holtz can tell that she knows _exactly_ what she’s referencing.

“It—it came with the shirt,” Erin says, her voice shaking.

“How stupendous,” Holtz says quietly.

Erin gives her a pained look.

Holtz lowers the camera.

“Jillian, I—”

Abby rattles a locked door. “Somebody really doesn’t want us getting in here.”

Broken out of what may have been a moment, they turn their attention to Abby, who has already moved on to the parlour.

“Holtzmann, come check this out.”

“Hold your ponies,” Holtz calls, then gives Erin one last chance to say whatever she was interrupted from. When she stays quiet, Holtz sighs and joins Abby.

The PKE readings are slightly higher by the fireplace. Abby makes sure she’s gets it on tape.

“Guys?” Erin’s voice, slightly panicked, comes from behind them.

They both spin around.

“Are you trying to mess with me as payback, or something?” she says. “That isn’t funny.”

They exchange a glance. What is she talking about?

“The gooey stuff on the floor?” she prompts. “Opening the basement door?”

“Huh? I couldn’t get the basement door op—” Abby breaks off as they both look back at the door. “The basement door is open.”

Holtz blinks. “I didn’t open it. Did you open it?”

“I did not open it.”

All of a sudden, the PKE meter starts whirring around faster than they’ve ever seen. In theory, Holtz knew it could do that, but it’s never happened.

Her ears pop. Abby and Erin start talking about AP-xH shift, but she’s only half-listening, because the open basement door is glowing blue.

“Uh…guys?”

The other two turn.

“I don’t think we’re alone,” Abby says in awe. “Holy crap. Let me have the camera.”

Holtz doesn’t have any problem with that. She passes the camera to Abby. Now, with her hands free, she pulls the Pringles can out from under her arm and pops the top.

With the first crunch of a chip, Erin hisses, “How can you be eating right now?”

“You know I can’t refuse these salty parabolas,” Holtz says, taking the opportunity for another dig.

“Still?” Erin mutters, so quietly that Holtz almost doesn’t hear it.

The three of them watch as a glowing humanoid apparition floats out of the basement. Holtz’s mouth hangs open, forgotten chip bits stuck to her lip.

Ghosts are real.

She never doubted Erin, not one bit, but still…seeing a ghost, really seeing one, is a whole other story.

Ghosts are real. There’s something beyond death.

She feels herself getting choked up.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Abby says. “Class 4 apparition. Distinct human form.”

“This can’t be happening,” Erin says. “Not again.”

“It is,” Holtz says. “It’s happening.”

“That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Abby says.

Holtz needs to get closer. She steps forward. “Hey ghost,” she murmurs.

“Be careful; she could be malevolent,” Abby warns.

“She seems pretty chill to me.” Holtz takes another step closer as the ghost continues to float towards them. “My name’s Holtz—Holtzmann, I mean. Or Jillian. Whatever’s easier for you. Umm…” She looks back at the other two, unsure what to say. They look equally as baffled. She turns her attention back to the hovering ghost and hesitantly holds out the Pringles can. “Would you like a ch—”

The ghost opens its mouth and screams, expelling a steady stream of ectoplasm with the force of a firehose directly at Holtz. It drenches her from head to toe, and then it’s over as quickly as it started, and the ghost streaks past her.

She stands there, stunned, for a second.

“Aw, my chips,” she says, realizing that they’re ruined.

“Forget your chips! She’s getting away, come on!”

Holtz runs after the two of them, boots squelching slime into the carpet. She can barely see with all the goo in her eyes.

“Where’d it go? Where’d it go?” Erin says.

Holtz waddles as fast as she can down the steps outside, careful not to slip. A concussion is the last thing she needs right now, not while history is being made.

“There!” Abby shouts.

Holtz sees a flash of blue disappear into the distance and throws her hands in the air with a loud hoot.

“What just happened? You guys, what just happened?” Erin says.

“Ghost puked on me,” Holtz says.

“A ghost—that was a ghost.” Erin sounds in complete disbelief and shock.

“That was a ghost. We saw a ghost. We saw a ghost,” Abby says.

“We saw a ghost! Oh my God!”

Before Holtz can process what’s happening, Erin has thrown her arms around her. Holtz reacts immediately, clutching her back, no doubt coating her fancy suit in the slime as well.

“You were right,” Erin says against her shoulder, sounding like she’s going to cry. “I wasn’t crazy.”

“I always knew you weren’t,” Holtz says. She also feels like she’s going to cry as Abby envelops them both in a group hug.

Then they seem to simultaneously notice the ectoplasm and back off, but their enthusiasm doesn’t waver. Erin continues to bounce around.

“Ghosts are real!” she shouts, leaning close to the video camera in Abby’s hand. “Ghosts are real! I believe in ghosts because I just saw one! They’re real! A ghost just barfed on my friend!”

Holtz’s heart warms at the word.

Friend. Her friend.

It’s like she never left at all.

 

Erin doesn’t know how she’s going to be able to leave again after this.

All it takes is ten minutes of being around Jillian and Abby to realize just how much of the emptiness inside of her has been because of their absence from her life.

One minute of talking to Jillian to wonder why the hell she could have ever left her in the first place.

And approximately ten seconds to realize she’s kidding herself if she thinks she’s ever going to stop loving Jillian. If she thinks she’s ever going to be able to get over her.

So she goes with them. Of course she does. Not for the ghost, or even the book—for them. For Jillian.

And when she hugs Jillian, she knows she’s never letting go again.

 

They need to go back to their apartment to clean off the slime, and they extend a hesitant offer to Erin to come with them. Holtz expects that she’s going to say no—it’s Erin, and the likelihood of her sticking around for very long seems slim—but to her surprise, Erin agrees.

They get back to their small apartment.

Erin looks around. “The two of you live together here?” She sounds surprised. Not judgemental, just confused.

Now that Holtz is a permanent resident again, she’s got a real bed set up in place of the futon and she’s constructed herself a bit of a room with curtains surrounding the bed. There’s not enough space in the single bedroom for the two of them unless they share a bed, and neither one of them can afford a bigger apartment.

 “Yep. Best roommate ever,” Holtz says, slinging her arm around Abby’s shoulders.

Abby weasels out of her embrace. “No touching until you’ve cleaned up.”

Holtz sticks her tongue out. “You’ve already got it all over you.”

“I know. And I call the first shower.”

Holtz boos at her retreating back, but Abby’s already shutting the bathroom door. She turns back to see Erin standing there, wringing her hands.

“You can use the kitchen sink if you want,” Holtz offers.

Erin looks down at her blazer, sheened in ectoplasm. “I think I might be a bit late to salvage this.” She looks back up. “Besides, you get priority. That doesn’t look pleasant.”

Holtz shifts her weight and listens to the slime in her boots squish. “There is ghost barf in places ghost barf should never be,” she agrees.

Erin hesitantly reaches up to touch Holtz’s hair. “This is already hardening.”

Holtz swears under her breath, steps into the kitchen area, turns on the tap, pulls off her ruined gloves. “Let’s see if this stuff will play nicely with water.”

A bit awkwardly, she angles her head under the stream of water and rubs a section of hair in between her thumb and forefinger. It instantly becomes more malleable, to her relief, but the slime seems to get slimier. She shifts to try and get more of her hair under the water, only to miscalculate and slam her head into the tap.

She swears louder and pulls away. Her hair drips watery slime onto the surrounding counter as she rubs the spot where she hit her head.

“Do you need help?” Erin says softly.

For a moment, Holtz had forgotten she was there, and the sound of her voice is incredibly jarring. She turns around and blinks. Erin has removed her jacket and neatly folded it, ectoplasm side in, and set it on the kitchen table.

“I got it,” Holtz says, then returns her head to the sink, only to immediately knock her forehead against the faucet.

“I’m coming to help,” Erin says firmly.

Holtz grits her teeth and nods. Erin steps up beside her, dragging a chair with her, which she positions in front of the sink. Holtz hesitates for a second, then sinks onto it, probably making a huge mess on it as well. They’re going to be cleaning up slime from the apartment for weeks.

Erin moves some of the dishes that are in the sink to the counter to free up space, which helps, then she guides Holtz’s head back. Neither of them say anything as Erin starts directing water over her scalp. The crunchy bits of her hair start to relax again. Holtz is still on-edge.

“What’s _in_ this stuff?” Erin mutters to herself. “It’s multiplying. This is a nightmare.”

“Harder to get out than maple syrup, then?” Holtz says before she can stop herself.

In her peripherals, she sees Erin freeze. “Much harder,” she says after a long pause.

“Abby should get out of the bathroom, then. I need shampoo.”

“I’ll…try not to get it in your eyes.”

“Good.”

They fall quiet.

“So, how have you been?” Erin says softly.

Holtz isn’t quite sure that she’s ready for idle small talk yet. As if they’re just old friends catching up with each other. As if they simply lost touch. As if Erin hasn’t had plenty of opportunities over the years to find out how she is.

She clenches her teeth. “Well, it hasn’t exactly been all sunshine and ghosties.”

“Oh,” Erin says in a very small voice.

For some reason that brings Holtz’s anger back.

“Oh, come on, Erin, do you really think that you _leaving_ had no effect on me? That I just bounced back and my life has been great? Seriously?”

“Well, I—no, but—it’s been fifteen years, Jillian…”

Holtz pulls her head out from under the water so she can properly glare at Erin. “Yeah. It’s been fifteen years.” She crosses her arms. “And I told you, it’s Holtzmann.”

“Sorry,” Erin says quietly.

“For screwing up my name, or for screwing up my life?”

Erin avoids eye contact. She opens her mouth to reply, but is cut off by Abby exiting the bathroom.

“Man, that stuff is _evil_. You’re gonna have a hell of a time get—oh.” She looks back and forth between them. “Did I…interrupt something?”

“No,” Holtz says quickly. She stands, and slimy water runs down the back of her neck. “I’m gonna go shower.”

The slime is just as difficult as they said it is. She’s in there for so long that the water turns to ice. The slime continues to spread, gunks up the drain, coats her skin. When she finally turns off the shower, she still doesn’t feel clean, but she thinks it might be as good as she’s going to get for now.

Once she’s changed into clean clothes, she twists her wet hair back into a plain bun and inspects herself in the mirror for a moment. She looks more like Jillian than she’s comfortable with right now.

She picks up her glasses and spends five minutes cleaning them, then slides them on.

Better, but still not enough.

She spends another five minutes trying to get ectoplasm out of all the little holes in the chain of her necklace. Finally, she secures it around her neck.

There we go.

She emerges from the bathroom and is surprised to see Erin still standing in their apartment.

“What are you doing here?”

“I—I didn’t want to leave without…”

Without what?

“No, I mean what are you doing _here_ , Erin?” Holtz glances at Abby for backup. “You haven’t been here in fifteen years. Why the hell are you here now?”

“The book,” Erin says stiffly.

Holtz finally manages to make eye contact. “The book,” she repeats.

“Yes. It’s going to ruin my career.”

“Tough shit,” Abby says.

“We’ll take it down,” Holtz says.

Abby looks at her sharply. “What? No we won’t.”

“Yeah. We will,” Holtz says.

She needs to know.

She needs to know if Erin will leave again now that she’s gotten what she came for.

Erin blinks. “You will?”

“Yeah.” Holtz crosses her arms.

“I…thank you. That’s all I wanted.”

Silence.

“I should…I should go,” Erin says. “I have an early class to teach tomorrow.”

Holtz doesn’t ask if she’ll come back.

She knows she won’t.

She nods slowly. “You do that, Erin. I hope you get your tenure, or whatever. I hope it makes you as happy as you think it’s going to.”

Erin holds her gaze for a second longer, then bites her lip, nods, and leaves without saying goodbye.

 

Erin feels like her ankles are weighted with lead as she walks down the hall away from the apartment. Away from Abby and Jillian—Holtzmann.

Every instinct is telling her to turn back. To beg them for forgiveness. To make things right.

But she doesn’t deserve forgiveness.

She told herself that she’d never let Ji—Holtzmann go again. Never leave again.

But Jillian, Holtzmann, whoever she is, hates her. She’s still upset. Rightfully so.

She doesn’t want Erin there.

So she has to walk away.

She goes back to her apartment. She checks her landline for messages in case Phil has been wondering where she’s been, but there’s nothing.

She strips off her soiled outfit and throws the whole thing away, not even trying to salvage it. Phil doesn’t like that suit anyway.

Then she rifles through a box in the back of her closet until she finds the old MIT hoodie that she never wears, which is wrapped around something that she hasn’t looked at in years.

She carefully unwraps it and dons the hoodie, then curls up on her couch with the heavy book in her hands.

She was supposed to destroy it. Remove all the evidence.

She couldn’t.

There’s an inscription scrawled on the inside, from back when they mailed it to her.

_We’re all Ghost Girls now xo_

_-RJ_

She runs her fingers over the familiar messy handwriting of the woman who used to be her best friend and blinks back tears. She stares at the inscription for a few seconds, then flips to the next page. Then the next. And the next.

She’s up until 3:00am reading the book, familiarizing herself with all their old theories, her calculations. When she finally closes the book again, she rolls her neck from side to side and stretches her arms overhead. She leaves the book on top of her dresser and goes to return the box to the back of her closet, but something catches her attention.

She lifts a stack of papers and photos to reveal the worn file folder, surface rough from tape being ripped up off of it. The pin is still taped down in the top corner. Her chest constricts.

She lifts out the folder and perches on the edge of her bed. Her hands are shaking. She doesn’t know if she can actually open it.

She does.

The pen has faded considerably over the decades, and in some spots she can barely read the text anymore, but it’s all so familiar in a heartbreaking way.

She reads every page of the comic slowly, tears gathering in her eyes.

In the last panel, Ghost Girl and Reptilian Jillian stand on top of a skyscraper with their arms linked, capes fluttering in the wind behind them.

_I told you we would save the world, Ghost Girl_ , the tiny Reptilian Jillian is saying. _We can do anything, as long as we’re together._

_We better stay together forever, then_ , Ghost Girl replies.

Erin is really crying now. A few drops land on the papers and bleed the ink, morph _forever_ into an unreadable blur. She sets the comic aside, out of harm’s way, and lets herself crumple.

She wishes she could do it all over again. She wishes she could go back. Back to fourth grade, before the world got complicated, before Jillian left her and before she left Jillian, when _forever_ felt attainable because they didn’t know any better. Back to a time when their love for each other was strong and pure and the only thing in the world that made sense and _enough_ to get them through anything that came their way.

She wishes she could do it all over again, and she wishes that this time she could do it right. Promise Jillian forever. Never leave her side. Fight to stay together no matter what. Give her all the love that she wasn’t able to give her before, that she wasn’t ready to _face_ before. Give her all the love that Jillian deserves.

She wants to rewrite time, to give Jillian everything in the entire world.

But she can’t.

 

Holtz spends half the night awake, playing her way through the raw footage from earlier over and over and over on her computer. She freezes on Erin’s face more than once, studies her, fights back tears.

How could she have let her walk away like that? How could she have let her walk away _again?_

She broke off her engagement for Erin, told herself that she would do anything to be with her.

And she let her walk away again.

More than that, she gave her _permission_ to walk away. She’d gotten wrapped up in her anger and had _wanted_ Erin to leave.

Unlike before, this time she knows how to find her again. She knows how to contact her. She can still try to get her back.

She goes into her bookmarks and clicks on the page she saved months ago. Erin’s faculty biography on the Columbia Department of Physics site. It’s where they got the recent photo of her to put on the Amazon listing.

Under her photo, there’s her contact information. Office phone number and address, staff email. It’s all there. Holtz could show up at her office tomorrow if she wanted. Hell, she could even go into the course calendar and find out what classes Erin is teaching.

She memorized all the contact information the last time she was on this page, of course, but she wanted to make sure she has it right. She’s been trusting her memory less and less nowadays.

She stares at the phone number for a long time.

Then she clicks back onto the video.

Erin left. She can’t forget that. Erin had a chance to stick around for once, and she didn’t. She got what she came for, and she left. Her career, her tenure, is more important than they are. Holtz shouldn’t be surprised by that—she’s pretty sure it’s always been that way.

Even if she were to call up Erin and beg to meet up again, even if Erin came back into her life, it would never be the same. Erin would continue to distance herself from their work. Holtz knows that all the talk about believing in ghosts again was just that—talk. If the old Erin Gilbert had seen proof that ghosts were real, she would’ve thrown herself into researching them again.

But Erin left.

She’s worked too hard to build her image a respected, soon-to-be-tenured professor. If she did come back, she would tiptoe around, hiding her friendship and association with them. She’d let them do all the research, put their names on it. Deny any involvement.

Holtz has proof of her involvement, though. She has proof that Erin believes in ghosts. She has ten minutes of footage of Erin screaming about how ghosts are real.

A horrible idea grows in her brain.

An idea that would ruin Erin’s life, destroy everything she’s strived for her whole life in order to let her be the person she obviously wants to be underneath. She clearly still cares about this stuff, otherwise she would’ve left as soon as they decided to go to check out the ghost. Holtz doesn’t buy her story about coming along just to get the book taken down. She could’ve come back a different day.

No, she still cares about ghosts. She just cares more about what people think of her.

Maybe she’s the same Erin Gilbert after all.

The horrible idea continues to twist and grow.

Erin has done nothing but ruin Jillian’s life for years and years.

Maybe it’s about time she selfishly returns the favour. It might be the only shot she has at getting Erin, the _real_ Erin, back in her life.

She stares at her screen for a while longer, then she opens Youtube.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm currently working full time at an extremely physically demanding job with long/late hours, I'm moving across the country in 17 days, and I don't have a whole lot of time or energy to spare to work on this fic. I'm slowly, very slowly, making my way through it, but you can expect long stretches between updates because these next few weeks are only going to get busier for me. In the meantime, enjoy this fairly long chapter, re-read the old parts if you're desperate, leave comments because they make me really happy, and you could always swing by my Tumblr and leave an encouraging message if you feel so inclined. They go a long way, especially since I am...kind of struggling right now, not gonna lie. With everything, not just this fic.
> 
> Until next time. x


	16. I'll take the fall and the fault in us

By morning, Erin knows she has to see them again. She’s going to go back to their lab as soon as her last lecture is over. She’s going to apologize. She’s going to beg for their friendship again. She’s going to settle for only friendship if Holtzmann is willing to give it to her. It’s better than nothing.

She doesn’t make it that far.

After her first class of the day, she goes back to her office. The secretary for the department stops her before she gets there and says that Dean Filmore needs to speak to her right away.

It must be about her tenure. She wonders if they’re pushing back her final review for the billionth time. She’s beginning to think they’re never going to give her tenure, but continue to dangle it in front of her like a carrot to get her to work harder.

She gets inside Dean Filmore’s office, and his grim expression isn’t a good sign.

“Have a seat, Dr. Gilbert.”

She sinks into the chair opposite his desk.

He wordlessly swings his computer screen to face her and her stomach bottoms out when she sees what’s there.

A video. On Youtube. Of her screaming that she believes in ghosts.

She tries to cover her tracks. She tries. She tries so hard.

There’s no fixing this, though.

So when he says that she needs to go and pack up her office, all she can do is look at Holtzmann’s frozen, slime-covered form on the screen and nod.

As she takes the ultimate walk of shame through the halls, she passes Phil, and he pretends he can’t see her.

It stings, but it doesn’t matter. He wasn’t serving his purpose anyway.

None of this matters anymore. It’s all over. Everything she worked so hard for, all the sacrifices she made, it all means nothing now.

She drops the box of all her office belongings off at her apartment and then goes straight to the Kenneth P. Higgins Institute.

The door to the lab is locked. She pounds on it regardless. They’re probably hiding from her.

She knocks for a solid thirty seconds before the door gives way and Holtzmann pokes her head out.

Erin doesn’t let her say anything, just pushes past her and into the lab, blood boiling.

“Where the hell is Abby?” she snaps.

“Teaching a class,” Holtzmann mutters as she shuts the door behind her.

“That video she posted got me fired. _Fired._ ” Erin struggles her purse off her shoulder and throws it at the ground.

Holtzmann pales. “It did?” she asks in a very quiet voice.

“When is she going to realize that she can’t _do this?_ She can’t just steamroll over everyone to get what she wants without realizing there are _consequences._ ”

“She didn’t post the video,” Holtzmann says.

Erin glares at her. “Don’t try to save her skin. I saw it with my own eyes. So did the entire Physics department and probably beyond, thank you very much. My reputation is destroyed thanks to her.”

“No,” Holtzmann says. “She didn’t post the video. I did.”

Erin stops her rage-pacing and stares at her blankly. “What?”

“I posted the video.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Yeah. I did.”

“What do you _mean_ you posted it? How _could_ you, Jillian?”

Holtzmann winces. She doesn’t correct the name slip-up. “I’m sorry.”

“Was this _revenge?_ What, did you think this is like…like a stupid camp rivalry? I left you, so now you’ve ruined my career to get me back? This isn’t a harmless prank. This is my _life._ ”

“That’s not why.”

“Then why, Jillian? _Why?_ What _possible_ justification could you have for doing this?”

Holtzmann crosses her arms, steely-eyed. “You didn’t follow us to the Aldridge Mansion because of the book. You followed us because you still care about this stuff. But you care too much about your reputation and your job and I knew you’d never come back, even though you want to.”

Erin blinks. “So you went and got me fired so I’d _have_ to come back? What the hell?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“No, it didn’t _work._ ” Erin doesn’t even know what to say. How could she _do_ this?

“But I’m right,” Holtzmann says quietly.

“No. You’re not.”

“You didn’t follow us there because of the book, Erin.”

“Of _course_ I didn’t!” Erin explodes. “I came along to the Aldridge Mansion because of _you_. Not the ghost. I couldn’t have cared less about the ghost. I chased after you because I couldn’t walk away from you again, and obviously you couldn’t let me walk away either, or you wouldn’t have pulled this crap to get me to come back. Are you _happy?”_

At the end of this little outburst, she realizes that her hands are clenched as tight as her jaw. She tries to relax both to no avail.

Holtzmann is standing there with her mouth slightly open, her brow crinkled slightly like she’s trying to make sense of that.

“You mean…because of both Abby and I?”

And Erin has missed Abby, of course she has, but no. She knows who she was really chasing after. They both do.

She nods anyway.

Holtzmann nods slowly, too. “You’re right,” she says, almost inaudibly, “I couldn’t let you walk away either.”

Erin swallows. “I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I. I’m sorry for everything.”

Holtzmann nods again.

And that’s that.

She’s back.

 

Holtz isn’t convinced that Erin is actually back.

She says she’s all in. When Abby gets back from her class, Erin repeats that. She’s all in. She’s wants to join their research.

She doesn’t tell Abby what she told Holtz, that following them to the Aldridge Mansion wasn’t about interest in the ghost, but rather about _them_.

Abby doesn’t seem as skeptical as Holtz is that Erin really is here for good. She starts getting visibly excited, talks about upping their funding, drags them upstairs to meet with the Dean, which goes just about as well as you’d expect.

Then they have nothing, no jobs, no lab, no money, no equipment except for what they’re able to steal and take with them on a few carts.

Abby is remarkably upbeat for just having lost her job of five years. Maybe because she got her friend of twenty-one years back as a consolation prize.

Erin seems just as eager as she starts rambling about how they could really become the first scientists to prove the existence of the paranormal if they put their heads together like they used to.

Holtz doesn’t want to think about what things _used_ to be like. That’s just going to make it harder if Erin gets spooked, pun intended, and runs away again.

All she can do is take it one day at a time and try her damnedest to not let herself be sucked in again or get her hopes up.

All she can do is try to pretend like she’s not falling in love with Erin all over again with every second she spends with her.

All she can do is pray that Erin will prove her wrong and stay.

 

Erin can tell that Holtzmann is still waiting for her to leave, and the thought breaks her heart. So, she suggests they go looking for a space to rent to continue their research. She says she’ll be the one to sign the lease. If that won’t convince Holtzmann that she’s here to stay, she doesn’t know what will.

The first location available to rent is gorgeous and perfect for them, but way out of her price range. The space they end up leasing is a downgrade, definitely, but it _is_ above Abby’s favourite Chinese restaurant, so that’s got to count for some points.

She reaches the top of the stairs carrying yet another box of Holtzmann’s materials.

“Hey, Ji—Holtzmann, where do you want this one? It’s marked _contaminated but safe,_ whatever that means?”

Holtzmann looks up from whatever she’s working on and gestures to a corner where a bunch of other boxes have already been directed, then goes back to work.

Erin sets the box down. “I think that was the last one of yours.”

“Thanks,” Holtzmann grunts.

There’s a long pause. Erin starts absentmindedly unpacking one of her own boxes. She’s not exactly sure where any of it is going to go. The entire room is filled with discarded furniture from the restaurant, and is so filthy that she wonders if it’s ever been cleaned.

“Holtz,” Holtzmann says suddenly, quietly.

Erin looks up. “Hmm?”

“You can call me Holtz.” She doesn’t meet Erin’s eyes, and says this casually, but Erin knows it’s a bigger deal than she’s letting on.

Erin clears her throat. “Okay. Holtz.”

Holtz looks like she’s biting back a hint of a smile. Erin takes that as a win.

Holtz gets back to work, and Erin returns to unpacking. Abby orders lunch from the restaurant downstairs, but insists on having it delivered instead of going down to pick it up (as an experiment to see how long it takes).

Holtz has a mix of 80s hits playing as she works, and it gives Erin a little glimmer of the girl she used to know, gives her hope that maybe some things haven’t changed.

The way she hardly meets Erin’s eyes, _that’s_ changed, though.

She doesn’t really acknowledge her presence at all as she bops her head to the beat of whatever’s playing on her boombox. Erin doesn’t know where she keeps getting these old boomboxes.

Suddenly, a new song starts playing, _You Keep Me Hangin’ On_ , and Holtz really starts dancing. Erin can’t help but watch her.

And when the lyrics start, and Holtz grabs a soldering iron to use as a lip-sync microphone and finally makes eye contact, Erin realizes the performance is for her.

_“Set me free, why dontcha, babe? Get out my life, why dontcha, babe? ’Cause you don’t really love me; you just keep me hangin’ on.”_

Erin’s stomach twists. _But I do love you_ , she wants to say.

Only she doesn’t say that, because Holtz has already moved on. She’s swapped out her soldering iron for a blowtorch, and she’s dance-strutting over to the other end of the table to use it, back to ignoring Erin.

_“Why do you keep comin’ around, and playing with my heart?”_

That’s the moment that a paper towel roll on the work table goes up in flames as Holtz passes by it.

Erin starts. “Holtz!”

Holtz ignores her, seemingly unaware of the small blaze.

_“Why don’t you get outta my life, and let me make a brand new start?”_

“Holtz! Jillian! _Fire!”_

That seems to finally get her attention, and she ambles over to grab a fire extinguisher and douse the fire without seeming too perturbed, like she does this every day.

_“Let me get over you, the way you’re gettin’ over me.”_

_If only,_ Erin thinks.

Holtz is back to dance-working.

Abby sidles up to Erin. “I hate to interrupt your _Supreme_ -ly great dancing…”

Holtz chuckles. “Isn’t this Kim Wilde?” She pushes pause on her boombox and the room falls quiet again.

“…Anyway,” Abby says, “I got the website up, and I passed these flyers out all over town so I’m drumming us up a little business.”

Erin looks over the green flyer. _If you see something, say something_ , it says.

“Um, I think that might be…the anti-terrorism slogan,” Erin says.

“Oh, God. It is, isn’t it?” Abby sighs.

As she goes off to fix her blunder, Erin turns her attention back to Holtz. She’s back to working, sans-music this time.

“What are you working on?” she asks to try and make conversation.

Holtz shrugs. “This and that.” She looks up, and immediately stretches her head to look around Erin. “Hello, good sir, can I help you?”

Erin looks over her shoulder to see a man, a beautiful man. The kind of man who she would flirt with if she wasn’t in love with Jillian.

“I’m here about the receptionist job?” he says.

Erin frowns. “What?”

“The receptionist job in the paper?”

Since when do they need a receptionist?

She squints at him. “Sure, hold on a second.” She turns back to Holtz, who just shrugs.

“Kevin, right?” Abby says as she crosses the room to join them.

The guy nods.

Abby shakes his hand. “Abby. We spoke on the phone.”

It only takes thirty seconds of interviewing him for Erin to realize that she’s met children smarter than him. He seems baffled by the simplest of questions. It’s like he’s from another planet. She shares a look with Holtz over Abby’s head and she knows they’re on the same wavelength.

But Abby says he’s the only applicant, and that they need a receptionist.

So they hire him.

 

It’s no sooner than they’ve picked themselves up a receptionist that their day gets a whole lot more interesting.

“I got chased by a ghost.”

It’s a woman who says it, a tall woman with cool hair and a MTA uniform, standing at the edge of their restaurant-turned-lab.

“Oh my God, this is it,” Abby says. “Holtz, are we good to go?”

Holtz thinks about the prototype, still very rough, possibly unsafe. She hasn’t even had a chance to test it, and bringing it into the field for its first run is out of the question.

“No,” she says quietly. “It’s not ready.”

“Crap on a spatula,” Abby mutters. “What is? Do you have anything done?”

“Not at the moment.”

“How long would it take you to finish?”

“It’s finished…it’s just not—”

“C’mon, Holtzmann, this is our chance! If it’s done, then we need to go!”

“It could be dangerous. The equipment is untested,” Holtz argues.

“We’ll have to take that risk, alright?” Abby says. “This is too important.”

Holtz grits her teeth. She feels like Abby isn’t even listening to her.

Erin jumps in. “If she says it’s not ready—”

“It’s ready,” Abby says. “She’s just been paranoid ever since the expl—”

“Abby,” Holtz hisses.

Abby seems to realize that she’s crossed a line and holds her hands up. “Please, Holtzmann? I don’t want to miss this. What if it’s our only chance?”

Holtz holds her gaze, then sighs. She told herself she’d never get sloppy with safety again, never risk there being another incident, this time caused by her. How could she ever risk Abby and Erin like that?

She doesn’t want to think about what she would do if something were to happen to them at her hands.

But there’s no use arguing with Abby. She always gets her way. “Fine. But I’m the only one who touches it, and if I get even an _inkling_ that something’s wrong, I’m pulling the plug, ghost or no ghost.”

“Deal,” Abby says quickly. “Now let’s go!”

 

For the second time in the span of a few days, Erin is face-to-face with a ghost.

This time they presumably have something to capture it with, but Erin can tell that Holtz isn’t happy with the state of the gear. She’s been hammering away at her control panel for going on a minute now while the ghost floats closer.

“Holtzmann?” Abby says as she turns on the camera. “How we looking?”

“It’s not—I can’t—I need to be here controlling the power and I can’t be in two places at once to actually operate it and—”

“I can do it,” Erin says.

Holtz looks up, hands frozen on the control panel. “Erin, it’s untested. It could—”

“It’ll be okay. I trust you,” Erin says, holding Holtz’s gaze.

She stares back for a few long seconds, then gives a tiny nod. She picks up the rough prototype and carries it over to Erin, pauses for a moment, then hands it to her with a sigh.

It’s heavier than Erin expected. She staggers a bit and tries to get a good grasp.

“That’s going to shoot out a proton stream,” Holtz says quietly, then steps back over to the cart and grabs something else, a thick metal ring. “Here,” she says, voice shaking slightly as she comes closer and fits the collar around Erin’s neck. “That’s some grounding.” Her hand rests on Erin’s shoulder for a second.

Her closeness is making Erin’s knees shake. Or maybe it’s the presence of the ghost.

She hears Holtz inhale sharply. “Just…be careful. Okay?” The desperation in her voice gives Erin a raw feeling in her throat.

She nods.

Holtz returns to her place by the cart and counts down, then Erin squeezes the trigger. As promised, a proton stream comes out of the barrel, but it doesn’t reach far enough. As Holtz scrambles to up the power, the ghost only gets closer—and seems angrier.

On the second attempt, the beam actually does encircle the ghost, but it doesn’t seem to be containing him. He’s too strong. He lunges and she trips and falls backwards. She’s vaguely aware of Abby and the MTA worker, Patty, shouting things she can’t make out, and the sound of a train approaching. The ghost is still writhing inside the proton beam, clawing the air, trying to get to her.

Abby shouts something about luring him back to the platform. Hands grab Erin’s arms and begin dragging her up and back, trying to get her off the tracks. The tunnel is starting to glow with the light from the oncoming train.

She’s going to die here, she realizes.

“Hurry!” she pleads.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” Jillian keeps shouting by her ear.

The cart, dragging behind her like an unwilling dog, catches on the rails and knocks to the side.

The cart, which she’s attached to by the grounding collar around her neck.

Jillian realizes at the same time as she does, and her hands fumble and she gets the collar off and throws it onto the tracks at lightning speed.

Erin still has the ghost trapped in the proton steam. There’s no way she’s going to get it up onto the platform before the train, and she’s still plugged into the cart on the tracks, but if she lets go, Jillian’s hard work will be destroyed, and—

“Drop it!” Jillian screams, making the decision for her.

Erin lets go of the prototype and it clatters to the tracks, the proton beam disappearing, and Jillian pulls her up onto the platform and away from the ghost just as the train slams into its glowing body and showers them in slime.

Then it’s all over just as quickly as it started, and the ghost is being carried away in the back of the train, and the prototype is mangled on the tracks, but they’re all alive.

She looks back to see Jillian, ashen-faced and covered in ectoplasm.

“You almost got killed,” she says somberly.

“You saved my life,” Erin replies quietly. She looks back at the bits and pieces strewn across the tracks, or at least what she can see through the slime in her eyes. “I broke your machine.”

Jillian reaches over and tentatively thumbs away some of the ectoplasm under Erin’s eyes. “I don’t care about the machine.”

Erin swallows. She doesn’t know what to say to that. The implication is there—she still cares about her. Even now. Even after everything Erin put her through. Even though she probably doesn’t deserve it.

Jillian exhales and then steps back away from her, and the moment, like all the ones before it, is gone.

They part ways. Erin goes home, back to her apartment, and showers off the slime. It’s horrible to try and get off. Invasive in the worst ways.

After she’s showered, she puts on the MIT hoodie like she has every night since the reunion. It makes her feel close to Holtz in a strange way, even though it’s a painful reminder that she could’ve had her back in her life over a decade ago if she could’ve only swallowed her pride.

She curls up in bed and reads the comic again for the thousandth time and thinks.

Holtz isn’t wearing a ring, engagement or wedding. She noticed the other night, as soon as she’d taken her gloves off.

It doesn’t mean anything, of course.

It could be for any number of reasons—lab safety, personal taste, some other reason that Erin can’t think of…

But there’s a miniscule, microscopic, hint of a chance that maybe the reason is that she’s no longer engaged.

There’s no way to know for sure without asking her, of course, and Erin doesn’t know how to do that without revealing that she was Facebook-stalking her before.

Wait—how did she not think of that before? Facebook.

She pulls her laptop towards her and hurriedly opens it, logs in, types _Jillian Holtzmann_ into the search bar.

Nothing comes up. She’s not there. Her page doesn’t exist anymore.

It makes Erin wonder if she hallucinated the whole thing, dreamt up the engagement in all her jealous pining.

No, she saw them. She saw the way they held each other, the familiarity and ease between them.

Even if they weren’t engaged, they _were_ together, and serious, too.

And even if they’re no longer engaged, it doesn’t mean anything.

That doesn’t mean Holtz still hasn’t moved on. It doesn’t mean that she’s ready to start seeing anyone again. It doesn’t mean that Erin can swoop in and declare her love. It doesn’t mean she’s ever going to be interested in Erin again.

It doesn’t change a single thing about the situation, doesn’t guarantee anything.

But, if it’s true, if her engagement _was_ broken off, then there’s another miniscule, microscopic, hint of a chance that it’s not too late.

And Erin will hang onto that hope with everything she’s got.

 

Holtz can’t stop thinking about Erin, about the moment of sheer terror when she thought she was going to lose her.

After she cleans up all the ectoplasm on her person, she waits until Abby stops gushing about the ghost and goes to bed, then she sneaks out of the apartment.

She walks.

She walks until she makes it to a lesbian bar that she used to go to with Amber sometimes.

The bartender recognizes her, greets her by name, doesn’t ask about Amber. The lesbian gossip chain strikes again.

She downs one drink. Another. Another. The room tilts but doesn’t spin. She closes her eyes and all she sees is Erin smeared across subway tracks. She opens her eyes.

A girl dressed in a _very_ low-cut black dress, dark curly hair down to her ass, bright eyes, sits down beside her at the bar.

“Come here often?” Holtz says automatically, reflexively.

The girl laughs in a way that’s too robust to be a giggle but too dainty to be a chuckle.

Her name is Ana and she has a nose like Erin’s and eyes like Amber’s and that’s when Jillian realizes she’s maybe not as okay as she thought she was, but it’s too late because she’s at Ana’s apartment which she shares with five roommates who are all there, and Holtz finds that hilarious until a tall guy with greasy hair comes out of his room to watch her taking Ana to pieces on the couch and Holtzmann flips him off and he swears at her in Spanish and Holtzmann swears back in German because it’s the only language that she can remember, and Ana screams so loud when she comes that Holtz wishes her fingers weren’t preoccupied so she could plug her ears, and she leaves without letting Ana reciprocate because from the second she sat down in the bar, Jillian was already full of regret, and it follows her home like a stray dog that won’t stop barking, and she actually does plug her ears, and the sidewalk isn’t as straight as she remembers it being, so after a while she sits down on the curb and her regret-dog curls up at her feet and she tries to get the world around her to shut up, but she realizes that half the noise is in her head and every version of her, Jillian and Holtz and Holtzmann, won’t stop dancing around her like funhouse reflections and she just wants it all to _stop_.

“Jillian?”

She blinks, realizes that her phone is pressed against her ear and the voice is coming from it, not her head. “Okay,” she says. “Jillian it is.”

“Are you alright? Where are you?”

It’s Rebecca, she realizes belatedly.

She squints to try and make out the closest street sign. She’s not sure the name is written in English. It just looks like squiggles. “ _Deutsch, vielleicht?_ ” she says.

“Jillian, where _are_ you?” Rebecca says sharply.

There’s a muffled voice and the sound of a phone changing hands, then Connie. “Holtz? What’s goin’ on?”

“ _Nein, das ist Jillian_.”

There’s a pause. “Jillian? Are you okay? You need us to call someone? Where’s Abby?”

“She’s ’sleep,” Jillian slurs. “What time s’it?”

“Here? Eight in the morning. Which means it’s…almost three there,” Connie says. “Seriously, where are you? Should I call Abby?”

Jillian swears in German again. “Shit. M’sorry, I forgot you were in Europe.”

She hangs up.

Her phone immediately rings and startles her. She fumbles and drops it to the pavement, but when she picks it up, it’s still ringing so it’s probably not broken.

She answers it. “Mmm, ’lo?”

“We’re about two seconds away from callin’ Abby if you don’t tell us what’s going on.”

Jillian exhales loudly. “S’nothing. I’m just drunk.”

There’s a long stretch of silence. Connie waiting for her to elaborate.

“They’re too loud,” Jillian mutters.

“Who is?”

“Me. I am. We are. They are. They won’t leave me alone. S’not usually like this.”

Another pause. “Be honest with me here, okay? You still taking your medication?”

Rebecca says something in the background. She sounds frustrated.

Jillian hums. “Course.”

“You said you’re drunk?”

“Yup. M’the drunkest. Can’t feel m’feet.”

Connie sighs. “You allowed to drink on your meds?”

Jillian screws up her face trying to think about that. “I have before.”

“This much?”

“…No.”

“Alcohol doesn’t mix well with SSRIs. Can increase existing side effects, worsen anxiety and depression, and impair judgement, motor skills, and alertness.” She sounds like she’s reading off a WebMD page or something. She probably is. “Are you…hearin’ things?”

“No. Maybe. It’s just that they’re usually me but today they’re not me, they’re them. You feel me?”

Connie says something, slightly muted like she’s covering the phone, then she’s back. “You at home?”

“Nope.”

“How far away from home are you?”

Her head is starting to clear a little. She recognizes the store behind her. “Only a block.”

“You think you can make it there?”

“Uh huh.” She shakily stands up and starts walking in that direction.

“I’m stayin’ on the phone with you until you get there.”

Jillian hums and walks. The sidewalk is slightly more flat and straight than before.

“Jillian?”

“Mmm?”

“You okay?”

Even in her drunken state, Jillian knows that Connie is asking about the bigger picture.

“Maybe not,” she admits, “but I will be.”

A pause. “We’re always here to talk, okay? Even when we’re out of the country. You don’t need to do…this.”

“I know. Was a lapse in judgement.”

She’s reached her apartment building. She tells Connie.

“I don’t wanna wake up Abby, so I’m gonna go now. Thanks. Sorry for waking you up.”

“S’alright,” Connie says, but she sounds tired. “Take care, okay? Sleep it off and call us soon.”

“I will,” Jillian replies, although to which request she’s not sure. She hangs up and wonders why Connie let her go without a fuss. Maybe they’re finally tired of dealing with her shit.

She gets inside her apartment, and there’s Abby, sitting at the kitchen table with a coffee and her arms crossed.

Jillian pales. _“…Hola. ¿Cómo estás?”_ Oh, now she remembers her Spanish.

Abby gives her a look. “Where are your shoes?”

Jillian looks down at her socked feet, looks back up. “Dunno.”

“Dr. Gorin called me,” Abby continues. “She and Connie are pretty concerned about you. I see why.”

Ah. That would be why Connie let her hang up. She knew Abby was waiting to ambush her.

“M’fine,” Jillian says. She sits at the table across from Abby, who slides her the coffee mug.

“There’s lipstick all over your neck.”

Jillian touches her neck; her fingers come back blood red. “Yep.”

Abby stares at her, sighs. “Listen, I know that Erin being back has got to be hard on you and it’s probably bringing up a lot of old feelings, but you didn’t have to go do this. We could’ve talked about it instead of you going and getting plastered and hooking up with some girl. Did it really make you feel any better?”

Jillian presses her lips together and taps her thumb on the table. “No.”

“If falling in love with a different woman didn’t help you get over Erin, I don’t think _this_ will. Just saying.”

“I’m not trying to get over Erin,” Jillian mutters.

“Right,” Abby scoffs. “I’m sure you hooked up with Mystery Girl just for kicks.”

Jillian’s eyes fill with angry-tears. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I? Come on. I’ve known you for twenty _years_ , Holtzmann. You’ve been pulling this shit ever since Erin left. I thought you were doing so well post-Amber, then this happens. When are you going to figure out that it doesn’t help?”

“Shut up, Abby,” Jillian warns. Abby needs to back off, just like she needed to back off earlier.

“No, you need to hear this. I’m not letting you spiral into your self-destructive bullshit. Not again. This stops _now_.”

“Fuck off. You don’t know anything. You think you’ve got me all figured out, but you _don’t_. This wasn’t _about_ trying to get over Erin, alright? It’s because she almost fucking _died_ earlier because _you_ rushed me into using untested equipment and I don’t know how to cope with the fact that I almost got her killed. Okay? So leave me the fuck alone. I don’t need you ragging on me when I already feel like I’d rather not be alive right now.”

She feels plenty sober now, and everything she was trying to escape has burst out of its carefully crafted confines.

Abby’s face clouds. “Ah, crap. I’m sorry, I didn’t…” Her face contorts like she knows she’s not saying the right things but doesn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry for assuming anything. I just don’t like seeing you like this. It reminds me of…”

“I know,” Jillian says. She swallows.

“It wasn’t your fault, okay?” Abby says gently. “You’re right; I pushed you. You said it wasn’t ready, and I pushed you anyway. But what happened wasn’t your fault or the prototype’s fault. We didn’t give ourselves enough time and the train came. That’s what happened.”

“If I’d had been smarter, I would’ve come up with a more portable design. That was a massive oversight.”

“Holtz,” Abby says. “Please don’t do this to yourself. She’s alive. We all are. The situation could’ve ended badly but it didn’t, and now we can move forward and collectively do better to make sure we don’t have any more close calls.”

Jillian stares off in the distance. “Uh huh.”

There’s a long pause. “Please don’t take this the wrong way—I’m just trying to understand—but why the hook-up? I get the appeal of drinking, but…what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking…” Jillian continues to stare at the wall. There’s a crack in the paint. “I was thinking that I broke off my engagement for a woman who’s never going to love me back. I was thinking that we’re all sitting around and waiting to die and it could happen at any moment. I was thinking that I don’t want to die alone but I’m going to anyway. I was thinking that there was a very hot girl sitting at the bar with me who was plenty interested in a night to make me feel less alone. I _wasn’t_ thinking.”

She can feel Abby’s gaze on her. “This might be…not at all what you need to hear right now, but…I saw the way Erin looked at you. I wouldn’t give up yet.”

Jillian sighs. “That was fifteen years ago. Things change.”

“No,” Abby says, “I mean today. I saw the way she looked at you _today_. She spent half the day staring at you instead of unpacking. She barely looked at me twice. She barely even _acknowledged_ our new receptionist or the MTA worker, Patty. It was like you were the only person in the room. All day.”

Jillian fights back tears again. She’s silent. What is she supposed to say to that?

“I’m going to go to the lab,” Holtz says finally. “I need to start on a better prototype.”

“It’s the middle of the night and you’re drunk,” Abby says.

“I’ll take a shower first, then.”

Abby holds her gaze. “Fine. You’re going to need to call your moms and apologize later, though.”

Guilt swarms through her. “I will.”

“And…I really am sorry about pushing you today. It won’t happen again.”

Jillian almost smiles. “Yeah, it will. You’re Abby. But I tolerate you anyway because I love you.”

Abby smiles a little back. “I love you too, nerd.”

Jillian pushes herself up from the table and ambles to the bathroom, where she showers away all traces of her night and lets Jillian slide down the drain with the dirty water.

By the time the sun rises, Holtz has already been at their restaurant-lab for hours, working on the plans for a new, more portable, more powerful, safer prototype.

This time, it’s going through vigorous testing _before_ it goes anywhere near Erin or Abby or a ghost.

Erin is the next to arrive. Holtz quickly puts on her thickest pair of goggles that’ll obstruct her bloodshot eyes (a result of her sleepless night, emerging hangover, and the stint of crying she did when she got to the lab) and grunts a greeting. Erin says hello awkwardly and retreats to the other side of the room.

Holtz is distracted watching her instead of watching what she’s doing. Erin madly scratching away at a legal pad and chewing on her lip, and the familiar habit tugs at Holtz’s heartstrings. It reminds her of long nights studying in their shared dorm room back in college, except there never would’ve been this much space between them.

Holtz gets back to work, if only to distract her from any thoughts of their college years together. She can’t let herself.

After about twenty minutes, Erin sets the legal pad on the table in front of Holtz, making her jump. She looks up slowly to see Erin standing there, still biting her lip.

“I found an error in my original math,” Erin says. “I’ve made the correction now, and it could change everything. It was such a stupid one, too. I can’t believe I didn’t catch it.”

Holtz tsks. “Erin Gilbert, making stupid mistakes? Not likely.”

“More likely than you think,” Erin says quietly. “I’ve made lots of mistakes in my life.”

Holtz holds her gaze for a few seconds, then nods at the acknowledgement. She glances over the page of scribbled calculations. Erin’s right; the new numbers could change everything.

“What are you working on?” Erin says after a while.

Holtz hesitates, then pulls out the new blueprints from under the mess on the table. “Portable proton pack.”

“Oh.” Erin scans the blueprints. “Listen, I really am sorry that the other one got broken. I tried to save it.”

Holtz forgets about her eyes for a second and pushes her goggles up to her forehead so she can properly look at Erin. “I told you; I don’t care. It needed to be rebuilt anyway. It was unsafe. Besides, I was able to scrounge together quite a few of the parts to reuse them. It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re alive. I should’ve never let you use it.”

“Really, I’m fine,” Erin says. “I volunteered to use it, and the train was the problem, not it.”

Holtz sighs. This is starting to sound like a repeat of her conversation with Abby, and she doesn’t want it escalating into a fight as well. “Still. I should’ve thought through the portability issue. It was a flawed design to begin with.”

“You needed more time,” Erin says softly. “I understood that. I’m sorry that you got rushed into testing it.”

Holtz shrugs. “When there’s a ghost, there’s a ghost. Abby was right: there’s no time to waste. If an opportunity comes, we gotta take it.”

“Well, we might get another opportunity. That one is still out there, and so is the one from the Aldridge Mansion. And if that broken device from the subway has anything to do with them, which I think it does, then there will be more.”

Holtz turns back to her work. “You’re probably right. We can take another look at that device today when Abby gets here. She brought it home with us.”

“Great.” There’s a long pause. “How long have you lived with Abby?”

Holtz looks up. “About nine months, but we lived together briefly a few years back as well. Why?”

Erin considers that. “Just wondering. How long have you been in New York?”

“Four years. You?”

“Seven. I got hired at Columbia in 2010, and that’s why I moved here.”

“How was it? Before…” _I got you fired_ hangs unspoken.

“It was good,” Erin says quickly. “It can be a little brutal being in academia as a woman, especially in STEM, but I loved the actual job. Teaching, I mean. Being a professor. I really felt like I was making a difference.”

“I bet you were the prof everyone loved, right?”

Erin shrugs. “I tried to be a cool prof. I doubt I succeeded. Nobody ever came to my office hours or anything. I hope it was because I did such a good job that they never had questions, but I don’t know.”

“Huh. So aside from the academic bullshit and the unappreciative students, a good gig?”

Erin laughs. “I did love it. Really. And some of my colleagues were nice. That’s where I met my boyfr—” She breaks off suddenly, face reddening.

Holtz’s hands clench up involuntarily. She tries to go back to her work, pretend like she doesn’t care, but she has to resist the urge to snap something in half.

Boyfriend. Her boyfriend. Erin has a boyfriend.

Of course she does. Why wouldn’t she?

So much for Abby’s theory.

She must not be doing a good job of hiding her reaction, because Erin clears her throat.

“We’re not together anymore. He was a dick, anyways. Didn’t stand up for me when I got fired, and hasn’t called me since. I got the message pretty quickly that it was over.”

“Oh,” Holtz grits out.

“It wasn’t a good relationship anyway,” Erin adds quickly. “I don’t think he ever really liked me, and I didn’t like him that much either.”

“Straight people,” Holtz mutters under her breath so Erin won’t hear it. She looks up again. “Why were you together, then, if neither of you liked each other?” she asks bluntly.

Erin looks caught off guard. “I…don’t know. I was trying to get over…someone.”

“Rebound, huh?” Holtz sighs. She has no right to chastise, not after her night. “Yeah, I understand. How long were you together?” It’s strained. She really doesn’t want to know about Erin’s romantic history, but at the same time…she does.

Erin hesitates. “With Phil? Since last November.”

November. The month Amber was in Croatia. The month after she saw Erin at Columbia.

There’s no chance that there’s a connection. There’s no chance.

But what if there is?

Erin is hardly meeting her eyes.

She doesn’t dare let herself read into it, though. She doesn’t dare let herself dream.

Any inch of dreaming that she allows herself, her heart will run a mile. It’s a dangerous, slippery slope, and she knows exactly what’s at the bottom.

“Well…” Holtz says carefully. “It sounds like you’re better off without him.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.” There’s a long pause, and when she speaks next, her voice is pained. “Are you…have you been…is there…anyone? In your life?”

Holtz looks down and fiddles with a pair of pliers. She’s about to answer when the door of the restaurant bangs open and Holtz drops the tool to the table with a clatter and Erin jumps back like she’s been shocked. Abby walks in balancing a to-go coffee tray and a cardboard box, and has a plastic bag swinging from her wrist.

“Morning,” she calls as she sets the box down. She walks over and deposits the bag onto Holtz’s work table and passes her one of the coffee cups. “For you.”

Holtz accepts the cup and takes a sip, humming at the perfect proportion of peanut butter to coffee. “Thanks. What’s in the bag?”

“Open it and find out.”

She pulls the bag towards her and sees that inside there’s a full paper bag and her phone. She sheepishly slides the phone out.

“You left that at home,” Abby chastises.

“Sorry.” She opens up the paper bag to find a dozen assorted cookies from her favourite bakery. Clearly a peace offering (and probably a subtle request to eat breakfast). She grins and selects a gingersnap, then waves the bag at Erin, who selects a peanut butter cookie with a soft smile. Holtz sets the bag back down. “Thanks, Abby.”

With one bag of cookies, all is forgiven with Abby, but she’s not about to forget their fight anytime soon. And more importantly, she’s not likely to forget her interrupted conversation with Erin either.

 

Erin spends her morning working with Abby, first while they post the footage from the subway, and then while they carefully dismantle the exploded device to try and figure out what it is. The whole time, Holtz works quietly in the background to rebuild a better prototype. She seems a little off today, but Erin doesn’t know how to ask if everything’s okay. Maybe she’s a little shaken up from the subway incident.

She also seemed fine before Erin mentioned Phil, which she already regrets, and she wonders if that has anything to do with it.

She thinks that they maybe had a moment earlier, but it was once again interrupted. She wonders if she’s ever going to have a real chance to tell Holtz how she feels. If she even _should_ tell her how she feels. What if it scares her off? What if it wrecks this tentative, new, rebuilding of a friendship that they’re working on?

How will she ever know if Holtz is ready to hear it? How will she ever know if it’s the right time? What if it’s never the right time?

She mulls over these questions all morning as she sneaks glances at Holtz. Besides a few bites of a cookie that now rests on her blueprints, making a grease stain no doubt, Holtz hasn’t eaten much of anything. She had a couple of sips of her coffee, but it’s probably long cold now. She seems like she’s in another world. She’s been stripping wires for the better part of half an hour with no real efforts to use them. Her phone keeps chiming, but she makes no move to answer.

Abby keeps watching her, too, which leads Erin to believe that something _is_ going on.

She’s distracted enough that she doesn’t really notice when Kevin shows up, and she _really_ doesn’t notice that the MTA worker, Patty, has returned until she speaks up from one of the old booths along the wall.

She wants to join them.

Erin’s first reaction is to say no.

The three of them have something special, unique, and incredibly precarious as it stands. They’ve known each other for decades. Even with this many years apart, they’re fitting back together to work just as well as they always did.

Erin is too selfish to let a stranger into their little group. She’s just gotten Abby and Holtz back into her life, and she doesn’t want to share them.

“This isn’t a club,” she says. The Metaphysical Examination Society has become Conductors of the Metaphysical Examination. They’re real scientists with PhDs doing proper scientific research.

“Listen, I’m no scientist with a fancy degree, but y’all need me,” Patty says. “Ask me anything about the history of the city, and I got you. I know all the haunted joints and what went down there to cause it.”

“You’ve got to admit that would be useful,” Abby says to Erin. To Patty, she adds, “We’re all transplants. Michigan-grown.”

Erin tries to come up with an excuse as to why Patty can’t join them that’s better than ‘I have the sharing skills of a toddler,’ but comes up short. Abby’s right; having someone with Patty’s expertise would be extremely useful.

She slowly nods. It’s not like the group hasn’t already been infringed on, and Patty’s going to be a way better addition than Kevin, she can tell already.

“You’re in,” Abby says.

“For real?” Patty says excitedly, clapping her hands together. “Y’all won’t regret this! Oh, hey, I almost forgot the best part—I can borrow a car from my uncle, so we won’t have to lug all this heavy equipment around!”

Holtz woops behind them.

And suddenly they’re a team of four, not three.

 

The car exceeds Holtz’s wildest dreams.

The irony is so gloriously perfect. A ghost research group with a _hearse_ as their method of transport? It’s perfect.

It could use a few adjustments, Holtzmann-style, so she has Patty pull it into the garage attached to their building and surveys it. She hasn’t ever worked on a car, but she _has_ worked on her bike. The skills have to be at least a little bit transferable.

Her bike.

That reminds her that she’s supposed to be calling Connie and Rebecca back. She checks her watch and calculates the time difference—it will already be after dinner there. She trudges back upstairs and grabs her phone and the bag of cookies, then returns to the garage. She pulls open the back of the hearse, is slightly disappointed to find no body, and then after a moment of deliberation, crawls inside.

It’s not the most comfortable place to lay down, but it’s not the worst, either. She supposes it’s one of those places that’s probably better if you’re dead.

She stretches out on her back with the bag of cookies beside her, starts on a chocolate chip, and unlocks her phone.

She dials Connie, switches to speakerphone, and sets her phone on her stomach.

“Jillian.”

It’s Rebecca who answers, not Connie. Holtz instantly shrivels up a little. She didn’t anticipate talking to Rebecca.

“Uhhhh…hey,” she says. “Is your wife around?”

“She’s in the shower,” Rebecca says.

Holtz clears her throat. “Ah.” There’s a beat. “Listen, I’m sorry…about last night.”

“It is…okay. I am…glad you thought to call us.” Rebecca coughs. “Are you alright now? Is there anything you wish to discuss with me?” She sounds slightly stilted, robotic, like a bad actor delivering lines.

Holtz squints up at the roof of the hearse. “Uh…no, I’m good.” Has Europe made Rebecca softer and more sympathetic or did Connie tell her to say that? Either way, it’s out of character for her.

“Very well, then,” Rebecca says shortly. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“Um…no?”

Rebecca hums.

“How’s the conference going?” Holtz asks after a pause.

“Quite well, thank you. My presentation today was well-received. I have, however, had a headache for most of the day from an unsettling call this morning…” She says this last part lightly, almost teasing.

“Sorry,” Holtz replies guiltily.

“Ah, Connie has just emerged from the shower. Shall I pass you off to her?”

“That’d be great,” Holtz says. “Uh, thanks. And sorry again.”

There are some muffled noises as the phone switches hands. “Hey, Holtz.”

“Hey. What’s up with your wife? She sounded weird. She on new migraine drugs that make her loopy? Had a few too many glasses of wine? Out in the sun all day? Sick?”

“You are on speaker, Jillian,” Rebecca says dryly.

Holtz blinks. “Hi, Becca.” She coughs. “Anyway, uhhh…I had a mechanics question for Connie.”

There’s a pause. “Sure. Something wrong with the bike?”

“Nah, it’s great. It’s just that I’ve recently acquired a car, and I’d love to get my hands a little dirty. Wondered if you’d have any advice. It’s a Cadillac, an ’84 Series 70 Fleetwood hearse.”

A longer pause. “Why do you need a hearse?”

“Who doesn’t need a hearse? I’m lying in the back of it right now. Lots of elbow room. Spacious. I bet you could seat a family of eight in here, no problem.”

“Jillian.”

“Hey, Rebecca. Still there, huh?”

“Please enlighten us as to where you got a hearse and what your intentions are with it.”

Holtz thinks about the fact that the two of them still don’t know that she’s been studying the paranormal.

“It’s…a gift from a new friend to be used for…research,” she says vaguely.

“It’s a little morbid, kid,” Connie says. “Especially considerin’ you’re inside it.”

“I like it. I’m eating cookies,” she says, as if the thoughts are related.

“Cookies?”

“Yeah. I’m eating cookies inside a hearse. Life is wild, isn’t it?”

“They’re just…regular cookies?” Connie says slowly.

Holtz snorts. “Pretty sure. Abby got them for me.”

“Right,” Connie says. “Knew that.”

Holtz squints. “Has she been texting you about me?”

Their silence is confirmation enough. She pictures the look Rebecca is definitely giving Connie for revealing that.

She sighs. “Guess I deserve to have you talking about me behind my back if I’m gonna act like a teenager and do stupid shit.”

“Like buy a hearse?” Rebecca says sardonically.

“Hey, I told you I didn’t buy it. I _acquired_ it. And I phoned for advice, not a lecture,” she says childishly. “ _Car_ advice.”

Rebecca sighs. “Take her off speaker. I’m going to lie down.”

Connie says something to her that Holtz doesn’t quite catch. There’s a burst of static. “Can I call you back in ten, Holtz?”

“Sure, sure,” Holtz says. “I’ll be here.”

Ten minutes turns into twenty. She eats four cookies, stares at the roof of the hearse looking for imperfections, contemplates existence and mortality.

Her phone rings. She swipes to answer and holds it to her ear. “Do you believe in life after death, Connie?”

There’s a long pause, and Holtz actually checks her phone’s screen to confirm that it is, in fact, Connie calling.

“You’re starting to worry us, kid,” Connie says finally. “What’s going on?”

“Huh? Everything’s fine.”

“Holtz,” Connie says. “Be honest with me. You have any plans to kill yourself?”

Holtz nearly chokes on the piece of cookie in her mouth. “What? No! Why would you even _say_ that?”

“Think about the last twenty-four hours and ask that again.”

Holtz thinks. “I don’t…I still don’t…”

Connie sighs. “You called us, drunk, said you were hearin’ stuff, told me you weren’t okay, got in a fight with Abby, told _her_ you don’t want to be alive, are clearly upset about something, and now you’ve gone and got yourself a hearse, which you are lying in, questioning if there’s life after death. Think about how that looks. So, I’m gonna ask again. You plannin’ on killing yourself?”

“No,” Holtz says quietly. “I see what you mean. But no.”

“If you’re lying to me, you do realize that Becca will find a way to bring you back _just_ to kill you herself, right?”

Holtz laughs nervously. Partly because she doesn’t doubt it, and partly because the irony. “I’m not lying. I swear. Last night was just…it was just a night. I was…a little shaken up about something that happened earlier in the day, that’s all. I tried to forget about it but it didn’t work.”

“What about the voices?”

“It wasn’t…that’s not what…” Holtz screws up her face, trying to put it into words in a way that won’t make Connie and Rebecca fly back and drag her for psych evaluations. She exhales. “You know how…I don’t like being called Jillian, right?”

“Right. Except last night.”

“Yeah. It’s because…I don’t know. Jillian is still me, but she’s the…she’s the vulnerable one, the one who’s a fuck-up, the one with the tragic past, the one who had her heart broken. I don’t like being Jillian. It reminds me of the person I used to be and stuff I don’t want to think about. So I’m Holtzmann instead, or Holtz. Holtzmann is the one who doesn’t give any shits about anyone, who’s confident, who doesn’t get hurt, who screws around with a bunch of women, who doesn’t need _anyone_. And Holtz is like…Holtz is…” She searches for a way to explain it. “Holtz is the most okay out of any of us, the one who I like to think is the most _me_. She’s Jillian and Holtzmann all in one. But deep down, underneath it all, it still comes back to Jillian. I can’t escape her. She’s me. She’s the one at the core of who I am.”

Connie is silently listening to all of this. Holtz takes that as a sign to keep going.

“It’s not like—I know they’re not different people. They’re all me. They’re just…personas. Characters. It’s easier to be Holtz or Holtzmann than it is to be Jillian. People like me better when I’m not Jillian.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Connie says quietly.

Holtz doesn’t fight her on it. “Anyway, I don’t _hear_ them. I can’t _see_ them. They’re just waiting inside me, inanimate, like costumes ready to try on when I need them. But last night…last night they were…outside of me. Acting on their own, tearing me in three different directions at once, fighting over who I _should_ be. And now I think maybe…maybe I should end this.”

She hears Connie inhale sharply.

“Not _end_ this,” Holtz says quickly. “Poor choice of words. I meant end this…thing. Living behind facades instead of being myself, _all_ aspects of myself. But I don’t know how. I don’t know how to bring Holtz and Holtzmann and Jillian together into one person. It’s been so long, and I just…I don’t know. I like being Holtz. I’m not ready to be Jillian again. I don’t like inflicting her on the world. Jillian— _me_ —I’m not…not the kind of person who people like. You know?”

Connie is silent for a second. “I think maybe…you’re givin’ people too much credit. I’ve known you for almost eleven years, now, and I’ve seen you in all your ups and downs. I’ve spoken to you as Holtz, Holtzmann, _and_ Jillian, and I love you the same no matter what. I’ll always respect your name preferences, whatever they are, but maybe there’s not as much of a split as you think. You’re always gonna be you. It’s normal to adapt your personality dependin’ on where you are or who you’re with. That’s part of being human. I think you might run into problems if you let yourself see them as separate people. You’re right; they’re nothing more than costumes. Don’t let ’em be anything but that.”

“I don’t know how to stop them,” Holtz says quietly.

“You could stop givin’ them their own names. It’s just you, alright? You can be called whatever you like, and your preferred name can change by the hour if that’s what feels right, but maybe your different personalities won’t take on lives of their own if you don’t separate them into people with their own names. It’s okay if you feel like ‘Jillian’ is the most vulnerable part of you, but maybe that just means that only people who deserve to see that side of you are allowed to call you Jillian. It doesn’t mean that ‘Jillian’ is a separate person who they get to meet. How does that sound?”

“Far too logical for my brain,” Holtz jokes, then sighs. “It was never this complicated in the beginning. I used to be Jillian. That’s it. Then…well, you know the story. I became Holtzmann to escape. But I ran too far. And now I just don’t know…I don’t know how to be myself anymore.”

Connie sighs, too. “You’ll find your way back. One day, you’ll find your way back to yourself. I think it’s easier than you think. If you feel most comfortable when you have the confidence of ‘Holtzmann’, that’s great. If you don’t like sharing your vulnerable side with anyone, then don’t, and if you do, then do. But don’t feel like you gotta have a certain personality so people will like you, alright? The people you wanna surround yourself with are the ones who’ll love you no matter what name you ask them to call you, façade or no façade. The right people will stick around, so you might as well live your life the way that feels the best for you. The most important thing is being proud of the person you are, whoever that is. Okay?”

And just like that, Holtz’s eyes are filled with tears. She swallows thickly.

How does Connie always know the exact right thing to say?

She couldn’t have possibly known that that’s the exact thing her mom always said to her. She drilled it into her head every night with a firm kiss on her forehead as she tucked her into bed.

How could she have ever lost sight of the most important advice she ever received? It used to be her mom’s entire philosophy, and hers as well.

“Thanks, Connie,” she says, overcome with emotion.

“No problem, kid. You gonna be okay?”

“I am,” she says definitively. “I really am.”

“Good. Now, tell me about this hearse of yours. You might have to call Jack if you need a hand…I don’t know that I can help much.”

“You already have.” Holtz clears her throat. “Actually, I probably don’t have to do a whole lot in the mechanics department. The car runs great. I just need to Holtz it up a little.”

“Holtz?” a voice, not inside the phone, calls.

Holtz scrambles upright and smacks her head on the ceiling, cookie crumbs falling off her shirt, and swears. She crawls to peer out the back of the hearse. Erin is standing at the edge of the garage, looking concerned.

“Ah, crap. Connie, I gotta go. Erin just walked in. Talk later?”

“Sure, ’course. I’ll let you go.” There’s a pause, then: “Wait, Er—”

But Holtz has already hung up and is climbing out of the back of the hearse, wiping some lingering tears from the corners of her eyes.

Erin looks even more troubled. “Who’s Connie?”

Holtz raises an eyebrow. “I was lying in the back of a hearse, and _that’s_ the question you ask?”

Erin nods curtly.

Holtz shrugs and slides back in to rescue her cookies. “A friend,” she calls over her shoulder.

“Connie?”

“Yes,” Holtz says, paper bag between her teeth as she crawls backwards out of the hearse. Once out, she removes the bag and sets it on top of the car. “Connie. She’s a friend.”

“How long have you known her?”

Now both eyebrows go up. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say that Erin sounds jealous.

“Ten years, eight months, and fourteen days,” Holtz says, if only to be a smartass.

Erin’s expression changes to surprise. “Seriously?”

“Yep.” Holtz grabs the bag of cookies again. “Cookie?”

Erin squints. “I’m…okay, thanks. I just came down to check on you.”

“Thought that was Abby’s job,” Holtz says, then selects a snickerdoodle and shoves the whole thing in her mouth at once.

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” Holtz says, accidentally spraying some soggy cookie crumbs from her full mouth.

Erin pulls a face. “I was going to ask if you needed help with the car, but if this is all you’ve been doing down here…”

Holtz swallows her mouthful of cookie. “Hey, don’t knock it ’til you try it.”

“What, lying in the back of a hearse and eating cookies?”

“Bingo. It’s good for the soul.” Holtz winks. “Ghost pun.”

Erin rolls her eyes, then shifts closer to peer in the back. “Isn’t a little creepy to be inside? Think of all the dead bodies that have been in there.”

“Erin, we study the paranormal. Being creeped out by dead shit isn’t exactly a problem I have.”

Erin looks offended. “Ghosts are different from dead bodies. Not the same at _all_.”

“Your logic is airtight. If you’re that creeped out by death, maybe you should go back to your day job.”

Erin pouts. “Someone got me fired from that,” she says, but there’s teasing behind the words. “Besides, I’m not creeped out by death.”

“Prove it.” Holtz sweeps her arm at the hearse. “All this could be yours! If you act now, we’ll throw in a free—” She peeks inside the cookie bag— “double chocolate!”

“Fine,” Erin says. “Move over.”

Holtz steps out of her way and gestures with an amused smile.

Erin ducks her head to appraise the inside of the hearse with a determined expression, then she climbs in. Holtz watches her carefully lie down and shuffle until she’s comfortable, then after a moment of thought, fold her arms across her chest.

“You’re right; this isn’t terrible,” Erin says.

Holtz laughs. “Scoot over.”

Erin does. Holtz climbs in and lies down beside her. She takes the last cookie out of the bag and halves it, then passes Erin one half.

“To death,” she toasts cheerfully, clinking her half against Erin’s.

Erin scoffs quietly, but echoes the sentiment.

They eat their halves in silence. Holtz stares at the roof.

“Hey, Erin?” she says after a while.

“Mmm?”

“Did you really doubt that ghosts were real until the other day?”

There’s a long pause as Erin considers that. “Yes and no,” she says quietly. “I tried really hard to deny their existence, and I could almost trick myself into thinking that I’d been crazy all along, that I’d never seen one, but deep down I knew the truth. But there was still that tiny, tiny voice that wondered if I actually _was_ crazy. So I knew the truth even though I didn’t really trust that it _was_ the truth. I know that doesn’t…make a lot of sense.”

“No, it does,” Holtz reassures. “I understand.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.” She crumples the empty paper bag into a ball, throws it up, catches it. “I know the feeling.”

“Oh,” Erin says, and Holtz can tell that she’s desperate to know what she means by that.

“You were my ghost,” Holtz says by way of explanation.

Erin turns her head, brow furrowed.

“I started to wonder if you were ever really there,” Holtz adds.

“Oh,” Erin says again, voice small.

“I think I know the answer to this,” Holtz says, “but I’m going to ask anyway because I need to know. Why did you leave?”

Erin hesitates and turns her head back so she’s looking up. “I couldn’t…I was facing a lifetime of everything I had finally left behind. Ridicule. Torment. People thinking I was crazy. I couldn’t do it all over again. I couldn’t face the thought of being Ghost Girl for the rest of my life. I just couldn’t.”

Holtz’s chest hurts. “But I would’ve been by your side, just like I was when we were kids.” Her voice shakes as she says it.

“I know you would’ve been,” Erin says, voice also shaky. “There were other reasons, too. Other stuff I was running away from. I was scared.”

“But I told you I would be by your side forever,” Holtz says. “Whatever else you were scared of, I could’ve helped. You didn’t have to run. I could’ve helped you.”

“Not with this,” Erin says, and she sounds like she might cry. “Not with this.”

Holtz frowns. What could Erin possibly have been scared of that she couldn’t have helped with?

 

They’re heading into dangerous territory.

They fall silent, breathing.

“Did you leave because of me?” Holtz says in a small, scared voice. “Because of…”

Erin turns her head sharply and sucks in a breath. “ _No._ No. It had nothing to do with you,” she lies. “It was all me.”

Holtz laughs, one short bark. “ _It’s not you, it’s me?_ ”

“I’m serious, Jillian,” Erin says, the name slipping out. “Shoot, sorry: Holtz.” She shakes her head. “Please don’t think that me leaving had anything to do with you. I screwed up. Me. I had a bunch of issues and fears and instead of letting anyone know about them, I ran like a coward. It had nothing to do with you. Or Abby.”

“But it was…about the book?”

“Yes,” Erin says tightly. “The book. Not you.”

“Or…”

“Or…or us,” Erin adds in a voice so small she’s not sure Holtz will be able to hear her.

She hears Holtz inhale sharply. Erin’s own lungs feel like they’ve been punctured.

 _Us._ It’s the first time either of them have acknowledged that there was an _us_. That they used to have something, something that makes Erin’s insides burn when she thinks about it, something that caused her to flee in fear when she didn’t even understand why.

“You never—you never answered,” Erin says before she can chicken out. “Is there anyone?” Her voice wavers as she says it. She doesn’t want to know the answer. But she needs to.

“Not anymore,” Holtz says quietly.

Erin’s breath catches.

Not anymore. Not anymore. There isn’t anyone anymore.

There was—but Erin knew that already.

That’s not important.

All that’s important is that there isn’t anyone anymore.

Erin doesn’t know what to do with that information, but she’s going to cling onto it like her life depends on it, because it means that all hope isn’t lost.

She’s about to reply when a knock on the roof of the hearse startles both of them.

“What the flying flapjack are you guys doing inside there?” Abby says. “Do I wanna know?”

Holtz quickly clambers out and Erin follows. Abby is leaning against the wall of the garage with her eyebrows raised.

“Contemplating mortality and eating cookies,” Holtz says.

“Naturally,” Abby says, but she’s still looking at Holtz strangely.

It was Abby who suggested that Erin go down to check on Holtz. Casually, like she was trying to pretend that it was just about making sure she wasn’t wrecking the car.

Erin’s sure of it, though, that there’s something wrong.

“I called Connie,” Holtz adds.

Abby stands up straighter with interest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Apologized for last night.”

Last night? What happened last night? And who _is_ this Connie?

It’s not the woman she was engaged to. Erin knows that.

So who is it?

“Are you good now?” Abby says.

“Yeah,” Holtz says. “Yeah, I am. I’m probably going to get a longer lecture when they’re back in the country, but I deserve it.”

When _who_ is back in the country? Connie?

Abby snorts. “You scared them half to death. Of course you’ll get a lecture.”

“Sorry, what’s going on?” Erin interjects, unable to keep from asking.

They both look at her at the same time like they forgot she was there at all. Holtz looks uncomfortable suddenly.

“Nothing,” she says quickly.

Abby looks back and forth between them, but seems to decide her loyalty is with Holtz. Without saying anything more on the subject, she heads towards the door. “I’m going back upstairs to see if Kevin is back yet.”

“See ya,” Holtz says, already bending over a toolbox in the corner.

Erin lingers, watches Holtz pull out tools and then circle the car with an appraising squint.

“You going to help, or just watch me?” Holtz says without turning her head.

Erin blushes. “What do you need help with?”

“I don’t know yet,” Holtz says. “I’m still trying to figure out what I’m doing with this.”

Erin takes a hesitant perch on a stool in the corner. “Is there something wrong with the car? Besides the fact that it’s a hearse?”

“Not at all. I just wanna spruce it up a little.”

“Oh.” Erin thinks about that for a minute as she watches Holtz prop open the hood. “Do you work with cars a lot?”

“Nope. Bikes, yes. Cars, no.”

“Bikes? Like…”

“Motorcycles, yeah.”

“You have a motorcycle?” Erin says in shock.

Holtz hums.

“How long have you had a motorcycle for?”

“Six years.”

“Do you ride it?”

Holtz snorts. “That’s kind of the point.”

“I mean, like, do you ride it here? To get to places?”

“It’s more for special occasions,” Holtz says.

Erin considers that. “Like what?”

“Pride and stuff.”

“Oh.” Erin shouldn’t be so surprised that Holtz is so much more public about her sexual orientation now, but she is. It’s just a testament to the fact that she doesn’t know her like she used to. That the years have changed her.

Or maybe she always wanted to be this public about it, but Erin was the one forcing her into the shadows.

The thought makes her feel sick.

She already feels guilty enough about all the years that she strung Holtz along and held her back. She doesn’t know how she’s ever going to make it up to her. If she even _can_.

In the meantime, all she can do is try to capture some of the lost years between them.

“How’s Mark?” she asks.

Holtz glances back at her. “Fine. He got remarried six years ago.”

“2011 seems like it was a big year,” Erin jokes.

Holtz doesn’t laugh, just shrugs. “2012 was bigger.”

“What happened in 2012?”

Holtz stiffens and doesn’t answer.

Erin realizes a second later. The MIT explosion. That’s what happened in 2012.

“How’s Luke?” Erin asks quickly to change the subject. “He’s how old now?”

“Twenty-two. He just graduated from UC Berkeley back in June. Political Science and Peace and Conflict Studies. He’s gonna change the world,” Holtz says proudly.

Erin exhales. “Wow. Twenty-two. That’s…insane. He was a little kid the last time I saw him.”

Holtz shrugs again. “Feed ’em and they grow, right?”

“I guess,” Erin says. “So, Mark remarried…do you like her?”

“She’s alright,” Holtz says. “Her name is Brenda. She’s nice, but…”

“Not your mom?” Erin guesses.

Holtz nods. “They’re still living in our house in Battle Creek. It bothers me a bit, but what am I gonna say?”

“I’m sorry,” Erin says.

Holtz turns and taps a wrench against her palm. “What’s your family situation looking like these days?”

Erin bites her lip and doesn’t meet her eyes. “Same as it ever was, except now my parents have a good excuse for not talking to me. Little hard to pick up a phone when you’re buried six feet underground.” She laughs once without humour.

Holtz’s face falls. “Ah, shit, Erin. Really? When?”

“Late 2004,” Erin says. “Within a month of each other.”

Holtz swears under her breath.

“It’s fine,” Erin says with false bravado. “They were shitty parents all along, right?”

“They were still your parents,” Holtz says.

At that, Erin’s eyes fill with tears. “Yeah,” she manages to get out. “They may have hated me, but they were still my parents.”

She hears something clang to the ground, and then Jillian is there, pulling her into a tight hug. Erin falls into her and breathes raggedly. She can smell her pomegranate shampoo, same as it’s been as long as she’s known her.

“They didn’t hate you, Erin,” Jillian murmurs.

“Yeah, they did.” Erin sniffles pathetically. “I was a disappointment.”

Jillian steps back suddenly and holds her at arms length. “You were a much better daughter than they ever deserved. If they couldn’t see that, it’s their loss. And regardless of how bad they treated you, it’s okay to miss them. It’s okay to be upset that they’re gone.”

Erin wipes at her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt, embarrassed. “Thank you. It’s so stupid. I just…I thought they’d stop freezing me out eventually, you know? I thought things would get…better. But they didn’t. My dad got lung cancer and nobody told me until after it had already killed him. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Jillian swears again. “I’m so sorry, Erin.”

“And then less than a month later, my mom pretty much drank herself to death. I only saw her once before then, at my dad’s funeral. I could already tell she was a disaster—I mean, she was drunk at the funeral, for crying out loud—and when I said something, suggested she get help, she lost it. Screamed and swore at me in front of everyone and told me that I had no right to show up for the first time in years and tell her how to live her life. Told me to get the hell out of there and never speak to her again. And I—I didn’t. I left. And then she died, too. My aunt hunted me down and called to tell me because she knew nobody else would. I didn’t go to her service, and I feel—” She closes her eyes. “I just feel so guilty. I should’ve gone. She was my mother.”

Jillian pulls her back into an embrace. “You didn’t owe her anything, even in death. I’m so sorry that you never had a chance to talk things out with either of them, but…I mean…I said it already. They didn’t deserve you, Erin. They never did.”

“I know,” Erin says, “but I wanted them to.”

“So did I,” Jillian says quietly.

They fall silent, still embraced closely in that small, dingy garage, and Erin gets a sense for the very first time that maybe they’re already more okay than she thought they were. That maybe they can go back to how they used to be.

And that thought makes her grip even tighter.

 

Holtz doesn’t make much headway on the car with Erin there, so she eventually gives up and heads back upstairs to work on her improved prototype.

By mid-afternoon, she’s got a (hopefully) functioning proton pack, so she gathers everyone around to outline the new features and show off the prototype ghost trap Abby was helping her with as well.

Then she herds everyone outside for a demo and test. She straps on one of the proton packs and weighs the wand in her hands.

“I just want to say what an exciting moment this is,” Erin says. “Holtz, you’ve done an amazing job.”

“Save the praise for after the demo,” Holtz says, but nudges Erin’s shoulder in thanks.

“Holtzy, is that comfortable?” Patty asks.

“Comfort is relative,” Holtz says.

“So…no,” Abby says.

“Something funky is happening with my vertebras,” Holtz says. She shifts into more of a braced position and powers on the machine. It hums to life perfectly and she smiles at the sound as she aims the barrel at her handmade ghost target. “Alright, here we go!”

She holds down the trigger button and several things happen simultaneously. A proton stream bursts out, as anticipated, and she definitely fixed the limp-stream problem…boy did she ever. The kickback rockets her backwards and she skids across the concrete on her ass until she bowls right through a series of garbage cans. She releases the proton stream as quickly as she started it, but the damage is done.

The other three come running over to her, but Erin reaches her first, nearly hip-checking Abby out of the way to get there.

“Are you okay?”

Holtz struggles upright. “Better question: is the _pack_ okay?”

“No,” Erin says firmly. “Are _you_ okay.”

“Relax.” Holtz smiles fondly up at her. “I’m fine. ’Tis but a scratch.”

Erin extends a hand and helps her to stand up. Holtz looks over the gun carefully for any signs of damage.

“I think you broke its fall,” Abby says.

“Phew.”

Erin laughs nervously. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Positive.”

“Good.”

Patty clears her throat. “So, too much power?”

“Little bit.” Holtz shakes some loose debris out of her hair. “I’ll make some adjustments.”

 

By that evening, Holtz has fixed the power issue with the pack, built three other identical packs, and has returned to work on the car. Erin trails her down to the garage and stays there, watching her work and occasionally helping, until long after Patty and Abby have departed for home. Erin grabs them food from the restaurant downstairs and they sit on the hood of the hearse eating and talking about their respective doctoral research. She asks a few questions about her CERN acceptance but doesn’t pry. She can tell it’s a sensitive topic.

It becomes clear after a while that neither one of them are getting any work done, but they don’t make any move to call it quits for the night. They keep talking.

Erin thinks it must be a good sign that they’re catching up. Holtz is letting her back in, bit by bit, and she feels like she’s getting to know her all over again.

There are still moments that Erin wonders if she’ll ever _really_ know this new Holtz, though. Moments where Holtz will break off in the middle of a sentence or story, freeze up, change the subject. Moments when she’ll make a dark or morbid joke and Erin waits a few seconds before laughing because she can’t quite tell if she’s joking. Moments where Erin wonders just how much damage she did to Holtz when she left, wonders how much Holtz must still be hurting, wonders if Holtz would’ve been better off if Erin never came back.

She knows deep down that she probably would have been.

She starts to see what Abby sees, realizes why Abby’s been so on-edge all day. She wonders if this is a daily thing, or if it’s worse than usual. She doesn’t know what to make of it. She doesn’t know how to help, what to say, what not to say. She tries to direct their conversations onto neutral topics, but there seems to be no rhyme or reason as to what’s off limits or not.

“Your necklace is clever,” Erin says, late into the night. “Did you make it?”

“Yeah.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to wear something like that. Seems so angry, you know?”

Holtz freezes. “I’m an angry person.”

“Are you?”

Holtz looks up and stares over the rims of her glasses. “Yes.”

Erin shrinks back. “Right, I guess…yeah. I…that makes sense. Sorry.”

“I made it because of you,” Holtz says bluntly.

Erin flinches. “I figured. I was there when you came to class wearing it for the first time.”

“You could’ve said something,” Holtz says flatly, and Erin knows she doesn’t mean about the necklace.

“I know,” Erin says. “I should’ve.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I was scared,” Erin says.

“Of the necklace?” Holtz says, dry as the pot roast Erin’s mom used to make.

“Of you.” Erin rubs her thumb at a chunk of dirt on the hood of the car and tries to dislodge it. “Of what you’d say back. Of _whether_ you’d say anything back. I was so ashamed of what I did. I figured you wouldn’t want anything to do with me.”

“I didn’t.” Holtz thuds her heel against the hearse. “I tried to drop the class.”

Erin glances at her. “You did? Is that why you left that first day?”

“Yep.”

“So you…changed your mind?”

“Nah. Dr. Gorin told me I wasn’t allowed to quit over a girl. Otherwise I would’ve.”

Erin swallows. Dr. Rebecca Gorin, Holtz’s mentor during grad school. She mentioned her earlier when they were talking about their research.

Hearing it put that way, “quit over a girl,” makes her stomach flip. The fact that Holtz’s grad school mentor, of all people, knew about her and their relationship stuns her. How many other people knew about it? How many other people out there know her as the girl who broke Jillian Holtzmann’s heart?

She feels sick all of a sudden.

Abby knows about their history. She gathered that from Abby’s loaded warning to stay away from Holtz, the first time they had been reunited at the Higgins Institute. She wonders if Holtz told Abby at the time, or if she had pieced it together from the context. It’s not like Holtz has ever been one to hide how she feels. Even in all Erin’s denial, she knew how Holtz felt about her, and it’s very likely that Abby did, too.

Erin feels even sicker as she thinks about what Holtz must’ve been like right after Erin left, how crushed she must have been, how heart-broken. She loved Erin, and Erin left.

She doesn’t blame Holtz in the slightest for telling Abby if she did. Abby was all she had left. And if Holtz’s current state is any indication, she’s been a mess for the past fifteen years with only Abby to pick up the pieces.

“Holtz?” she says in a very small voice.

Holtz looks over. Erin takes that as a sign to continue and twists to make direct eye contact.

“I’m sorry,” Erin says, as sincerely as humanly possibly. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry that I left you. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for the pain I’ve caused you over the years, and I know I won’t ever fully comprehend the extent of it. I’m so sorry.”

Holtz starts, clearly surprised by the abrupt change of topic. “I…thank you. Thank you.”

Erin hesitates, then stretches her hand to lay across Holtz’s. Seemingly by reflex, Holtz’s palm flips up and their fingers slide together. Holtz smiles a little sadly but doesn’t say anything. Erin wants to say something else, but doesn’t.

For now, this is enough.

 

Erin eventually leaves and Holtz spends the rest of her night in the garage, decking out the hearse. She stumbles home around 5:00am and sleeps for a few hours, then heads right back with Abby and the largest to-go mug of coffee that she can rustle up. She hand-tests all four of the proton packs before Erin and Patty even show up, and is pleased to report that they’re all working safely and smoothly.

Now all they’ve gotta do is find another ghost.

She spends the rest of the morning working on sidearms for fun while Erin, Abby, and Patty continue to try to crack the case of the subway device. By lunch, they’re all ready for a break, so they order pizza.

“So, how did the three of you meet?” Patty asks casually.

Holtz and Erin exchange a glance.

“You can tell the story,” Holtz says, interested to see what Erin will say.

Erin nods and sits up straighter. “Holtz and I met the summer before we both started the fourth grade. We became inseparable almost instantly.”

Inseparable. An interesting notion, given that they’ve been separated for more than half the years that they’ve known each other.

“Then Holtz got pulled out of school to be homeschooled and I didn’t see her for years, aside from a summer we spent at science camp together.”

Patty snorts. “Seems about right.”

Erin smiles. “Then Abby transferred to my high school, junior year.”

“We started telling ghost stories and we just kind of bonded right away,” Abby says proudly.

Holtz takes a loud pull from her soda and Erin jumps and clears her throat.

“Holtz came back to school for our senior year, and that’s when the three of us all became best friends. We even went to U of M together and were roommates for years.” Erin cuts herself off, clearly editing. “So yeah, we all have a lot of history.”

Isn’t that the understatement of the century.

“So, how did y’all get into ghosts? Did one of you see one?”

Erin shifts, face growing serious. “Yeah, I did. The year before I met Jil—Holtz, my mean old neighbour died. She haunted me, in my bedroom, every night for a year.”

Holtz stares at the table. She hates being reminded of it. She’s always agonized over the fact that she didn’t meet Erin a year sooner. She could’ve been there. She could’ve found a way to get rid of the ghost. She could’ve protected Erin.

“What?” Patty says in shock.

“I told my parents, and they didn’t believe me. They never did. If they were still alive, I could probably tow a ghost to their house and they still wouldn’t.” Erin chuckles self-deprecatingly. “I had to see a therapist for years, and the kids at school found out, started calling me…names.” Erin’s eyes flicker to Holtz’s for a brief second, then she looks at the table, clearly holding back tears. Holtz wants to crawl across and hug her, but she can’t.

“Holtz was the only person who believed me,” Erin says quietly. “For years, she was the only one. Then Abby. Nobody else ever has.”

Patty shakes her head. “Kids is mean, man, but I believe you.”

“I want to believe,” Holtz says, then winks.

Erin rolls her eyes with a smile.

Holtz gets distracted by something flickering on the muted TV behind her. “Guys, we’re on TV!”

The four of them spring up excitedly and scramble over to the TV and fumble the volume up. The news anchor is airing a clip from their subway ghost video.

Famed paranormal debunker, Dr. Martin Heiss, proceeds to do what he does best and laughs off their footage, but Holtz isn’t disheartened. She’s had lots of men belittle her work over the years, and she knows the others have, too—especially Erin. They’ll prove him wrong yet.

They might get an opportunity sooner than they expected, too. Despite Kevin’s incompetence, they’ve got their first real call. They race to gather their equipment and Holtz packs up the car while the others head outside.

Once everything is loaded, she opens the garage and pulls out, then slams on the breaks when she sees the scene across the street. Erin, and a man, who she appears to be arguing with. Through her open window, Holtz hears Patty say the word ‘boyfriend.’

Erin’s scumbag boyfriend. The dick who never stood up for her or called her. Phil, Holtz recalls from their conversation.

Erin doesn’t look too happy to see him.

Holtz is about to shut off the car and go intervene when Patty seems to notice the improvements to the hearse and distracts her. Holtz doesn’t really know what to say to her. Sure, from one perspective, having a ghost painted on the side of a hearse is incredibly inappropriate…but on the other hand, it’s incredibly _appropriate_.

By the time Patty has run out of complaints and gotten in the car with Abby, Erin is already storming back across the street. She slides into the back seat, and Holtz meets her eyes in the rear-view mirror.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Erin says, but she sounds pissed.

Phil is still standing across the street watching them. Holtz flips him off through the window and hits the accelerator, leaving him behind in the dust.

 

The situation at the theatre is a little more complicated than Kevin let on—although the fact that he actually led them to a haunted site is a miracle in itself.

The four of them do their best to ignore the rock concert above them as they creep through the dressing rooms, proton packs aglow on their backs. Erin makes sure to tell Holtz how much better this prototype feels already compared to the original model.

Holtz walks beside her despite their plan to split up and search, and Erin can tell it’s because she’s scared—of another weapon malfunction, not the ghost.

“This takes me back, ghost hunting with you,” Holtz says as they walk.

“At least this time we’re actually prepared to handle one,” Erin jokes. “Could you imagine what would’ve happened if we _had_ found a ghost in Cabin 13? Or that creepy house on Thanksgiving?”

“I still think Cabin 13 was haunted,” Holtz says. “The ghost was just being courteous and staying out of our way.”

Erin laughs.

“Hey!” Holtz says suddenly, and Erin jumps to attention. A second later, Holtz holds something up that she seems to have grabbed from the costume stock. It’s a blue bandana.

The corners of Erin’s mouth twitch up. “That’s a throwback.”

Holtz stows her gun with a wink and folds the bandana, knotting it around her hair so her poofy mess of curls hangs over it. Then she pulls out her proton wand again and stretches her neck from side to side. “Let’s go find a ghost.”

They do.

And they capture it.

And Erin finally has proof that ghosts are real.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, hi. Look at me finally posting a new chapter like a month after the last one whoops! You probably gathered that I've been way too busy to write, considering I just moved across the country and I'm starting a new very intense full time program that's going to give me verrrry little free time. But look, I'm finally posting something! And hopefully this is long enough that it'll hold you over until I can write more. :)
> 
> ps: It's x-files day/Holtz's birthday today so it seemed very fitting to post this today :)
> 
> pps: [Jillian](http://lil-peanutt.tumblr.com) is an even better beta in person, but her hovering over my shoulder while I write author notes is intimidating. Just saying.


	17. (just know that I want you)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Buckles in your seatbelt, hands you snacks and a box of kleenex, and pats you on the shoulder*
> 
> Go on, then. It's what you've been waiting for :')

Their celebrations are short lived. Holtz is already working out ways to improve the packs now that she’s seen how they work in the field. Sure, they’re safe, but they aren’t exactly efficient.

She’s barely finished explaining the changes she’s thought up when Martin Heiss shows up in person to antagonize them. And antagonize them does he ever.

Erin’s the most affected by him. Holtz doesn’t know if it’s because she’s sick of being talked down to by men in academia, especially after her run-in with Phil this morning, or if she always reacts like this, but her passion is inspiring. Holtz is willing to risk losing the ghost they just captured _just_ so they can prove him wrong.

So she doesn’t exactly step in to stop Erin when she _does_ let the ghost escape.

Nor does she sweat it too much when Dr. Heiss is thrown spectacularly through the window by the very ghost he was in the middle of mocking.

(She should probably sweat it a little).

 

When Erin started her day, she didn’t anticipate meeting the mayor today.

Then again, she also didn’t anticipate catching a ghost or letting said ghost throw Dr. Martin Heiss out the window.

The mayor isn’t interested in Dr. Heiss, though. The mayor is interested in their involvement with the ghost activity. The mayor wants them to knock it off. Pretend that ghosts don’t exist.

Erin’s tried that before. She tried for years and years and years to deny the truth of what she saw when she was a kid, and she’s finally able to reconcile those years of denial. And he expects her to go back?

She’s in a funk the entire drive back to their headquarters.

Holtz gently bumps shoulders with her in the back seat of the SUV they’re in. “It’ll be okay, Erin. They can’t take away the truth. Nobody can take that away from us.”

“You sound like Mulder,” Erin replies sullenly.

Holtz laughs lightly. Erin does not.

 

Holtz doesn’t know what to do to cheer Erin up. She can barely keep her own emotions in check 90% of the time, and isn’t fantastic with other people’s either.

This blows. There’s no way around it. She knows it could be worse, that they could be cut off from research entirely, but this is still pretty shitty, especially for Erin. She already spent her entire life trying to convince people she isn’t crazy. What has she done to deserve the government slandering her name?

If this was always destined to happen, then all of Erin’s efforts to leave and clear her name, all the pain she caused, all of it was for nothing. Erin is going to be Ghost Girl for the rest of her life.

Erin doesn’t say it, but Holtz is thinking it and knows Erin is, too.

To distract them all, Holtz leads them through a demonstration of all the sidearms that she built and tested earlier in the day, before everything went to hell. The others are delighted by the grenades, the chipper, the glove. Erin cracks a smile, but still seems off.

When they’re done, the others go to head back upstairs, but Holtz catches Erin’s arm and holds her back. Abby eyes them over her shoulder but doesn’t say anything, just leaves them alone.

“Erin…”

“I’m sick of this,” Erin says. “I hate this so much. It doesn’t matter what I do, there’s always going to be people making fun of me and calling me crazy. I wish I’d never seen that stupid ghost.”

That gets Holtz’s attention. “If you’d never seen the ghost, then we wouldn’t be here right now,” she points out.

“You’re right,” Erin says. “We’d be somewhere else. We’d be friends without any of this ghost stuff to mess things up. I never would’ve left.”

_She never would’ve left_.

Holtz shakes off that thought. “You’re wrong. I don’t think we’d be friends if the ghost had never happened. We never would’ve bonded as much as we did. We wouldn’t know Abby, either. Whether you like it or not, that ghost gave you everything you have, the good and the bad.”

Erin stares at the ground. “I guess so.”

Holtz shoves her hands in her pockets. “Listen, Erin. I know this is hard. I know that nothing I say will make this any easier. But I need you to know that I’m here for you. I’ve always been here for you. Maybe I wasn’t always by your side when you needed me to be there, but I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere.” Her fingertips touch something smooth in her pocket and curl around the object instinctually. Before she can fully process what she’s doing, she slips the object out of her pocket, takes Erin’s hands in hers, presses it into them carefully.

Erin holds the Swiss Army knife with careful reverence. “Holtz, is this—”

“Yes. So you know what it means.”

Erin’s lip wavers ever-so-slightly. “Why would you give this to me?”

Holtz takes a breath. “You can’t fight back if you don’t have the right equipment.”

“You want me to…stab the mayor with a Swiss Army knife?”

“I want you to carry it with you like I have ever since my mom gave it to me. I want you to remember that you can do _anything_ if you have the right tools—and that includes having people who will fight alongside you. We’ll get through this, Erin, and until we do, I want you to keep that with you. You know how much it means to me.”

Erin nods, and Holtz can tell she’s trying not to cry.

“I wouldn’t give it to you if I thought you were going to leave again,” Holtz says, throat tight. “Prove me right?”

Erin bites her lips, eyes shiny, and nods. “I will. Thank you, Holtz.”

Holtz smiles as Erin tucks the knife into her pocket. She throws an arm around her and steers her in the direction of the door. “Now, Plan A is to fight back with science. But if Plan A doesn’t work, I like where your head is at.”

“I’m not stabbing anyone.”

“Alriiiight.”

 

Erin keeps the Swiss Army knife in her pocket, hand around it, clutching it as she watches the news the next day while the mayor’s assistant, Jennifer Lynch, makes her official statement about them being frauds.

She fights back.

She spots a connection they missed before, a pattern between the haunted locations.

She solves it. She figures out what the devices are, what they’re doing, what their purpose is.

She figures out that the entire world is in danger.

And she fights back.

 

They stop the little psychopath hell-bent on destroying the barrier (and the world), but when he takes his own life, Holtz doesn’t believe for one second that it’s all over.

She sees herself in him, and that scares her.

She thinks, maybe, that they’ve won the battle with the mayor and homeland security, but that dream is short lived. Before they’ve even left the building, Jennifer Lynch is there and speaking to the media about the whole incident being a publicity stunt.

And then, the cherry on top, a guy who looks like he just crawled out of his parents’ basement, phone filming in hand, walking behind them and harassing Erin. Specifically Erin.

“Ms. Gilbert, I asked around your hometown. I talked to someone you went to school with. Carl Lund?”

Oh, for fucks sake.

“He said when you were a kid, you made up a ghost. So, tell me, were you _born_ a fraud, Ghost Girl?”

Holtz spins on her heel and launches herself at the guy.

“Don’t _call_ her that!” she shouts as she claws at him.

Instantly Abby’s hands are on her, pulling her away from him. “Holtz, stop it!”

“Don’t think I don’t know who you are,” he spits at Holtz. “You going to blow me up too, dyke? They should put both of you freaks back in therapy.”

And then Holtz breaks out of Abby’s hold and punches him, hard enough that he crumples to the ground.

Jackass never saw it coming.

 

“You didn’t have to do that. I could’ve handled it,” Erin says, holding a bag of ice to Holtz’s swelling hand.

“I know. But one time, a long time ago, you punched an asshole on my behalf, and this is me returning the favour.”

Erin remembers. Carl Lund, kicking their robot and stealing Jillian’s bike. It feels like an eternity ago.

“Well, thanks,” Erin says.

Holtz looks up, holds eye contact with her for several seconds. She’s sitting on the counter in the small bathroom in their headquarters and Erin is standing in front of her. Their close proximity is making Erin’s heart beat fast. Too fast.

“He was being an asshole to me, too,” Holtz reminds her.

“I know,” Erin says quietly. “Don’t listen to him.”

Suddenly she has a flash of a moment much like this, in the bathroom after that run-in with Carl Lund himself.

She can tell Holtz is remembering it, too.

“He’s right, though,” Holtz says. “I’m a dyke _and_ I have a habit of blowing people up.”

Erin flinches at the bluntness. She doesn’t know what to say to that.

“So, your birthday is tomorrow,” Erin says, just to change the subject.

Holtz grunts in acknowledgement.

“Are you going to do anything for it?” Erin prods.

Holtz shrugs. “Maybe I’ll whip myself up a birthday gift. I don’t have a sidearm yet.”

“Oh,” Erin says.

 

Holtz wakes up on her birthday in a good mood. She has a feeling it’s going to be a good day.

There’s a happy birthday text from Connie, signed by both her and Rebecca with the instruction to call once their respective time zones line up better. Abby makes birthday pancakes for breakfast, and Holtz devours four with gusto.

“I’m going to call Rebecca and Connie,” she announces after she sets her fork down. She hasn’t spoken to either of them since she hung up on Connie in the hearse a few days ago. They’ve been texting ever since, asking for her to call, but she’s been a liiiittle busy.

“Want some privacy?”

Holtz waves her off. “It’s fine.”

Abby shrugs and goes to wash her plate.

Holtz dials and absentmindedly trails her pinky through the pool of chocolate syrup on her plate. She can’t stand maple syrup anymore. She pauses with the tip of her finger in her mouth as she reminisces about the reason for that, then she sighs and licks it clean.

“Hey, kid!” Connie’s voice says in her ear. “Happy birthday!”

“Thanks, Connie.”

“I trust that you are doing well?” a dry voice says in the background.

“Oh, hey, Becca. Hanging around, too? Shouldn’t you be at a panel or something?”

“It’s lunchtime.”

Connie clears her throat. “Where have you been, kid?” She laughs. “I could’ve sworn you said _Erin_ was there the last time we talked, but that can’t be right. Right?”

“I assured her that you would have to be far less intelligent than I thought if the infamous Erin is in fact there,” Rebecca challenges.

Holtz laughs nervously. “Why would you say that?”

There’s silence.

“Tell me she isn’t there,” Connie says.

A pause.

“Oh, Holtz…”

“What?” Holtz squeaks. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Jillian,” Rebecca says sharply, louder suddenly as if she’s moved closer to the phone. “Is Erin there?”

“Not right nooowwww,” Holtz whines.

There’s a sharp intake of breath, from which one of them, Holtz doesn’t know.

“Start looking at flights,” Rebecca mutters, then, louder: “Jillian, listen to me. Stop communicating with her immediately. Is Abigail there?”

“ _Flights?_ ” Holtz splutters. “What are you talking about?”

“Everything from the past few days makes sense now,” Connie groans.

“Hold the phone,” Holtz says. “I’m doing just fine, I’ll have you know. You can ask Abby if you don’t believe me.”

Abby looks up from where she’s been washing the same fork ever since Holtz started the phone call.

“There’s not one until tomorrow morning,” Connie says. “Should I book it?”

“ _Stop,_ ” Holtz all but shouts. “You’re not booking anything. I swear, everything’s fine! Erin and I talked things out. She apologized! We’re all good.”

“Why is she there?” Rebecca asks tightly.

“Uhh…” Holtz wracks her brain for an excuse that doesn’t involve the paranormal. She looks up at Abby for backup, who is now standing right beside the table. “I can’t…tell you that.”

“Put Abigail on the phone.”

Holtz flinches and hands the phone to Abby.

“Hello?…Hey, Dr. Gorin…Yeah, for a week, now…Why? Ummm…” Abby looks down for guidance.

Holtz shakes her head. _Don’t tell them_ , she mouths.

“It’s classified,” Abby says, “but I promise, Holtz is doing okay. It was a little touch and go a few days ago, but you knew that. You really think I wouldn’t immediately call you if I was worried?...Hey, don’t forget that I’ve been there from the beginning. I picked up the pieces the first time, and I won’t let that ever happen again…I _know_ that, Dr. Gorin, but—” Abby pinches the bridge of her nose. “It’s complicated, okay?...No, I’m just saying that I know the situation better than you, and I’m not about to let—Respectfully, Dr. Gorin, I think—Thank you, Connie…Yes, that’s what I was trying to say…You can trust me, alright? I’ve got the situation under control…Uhhh, I…Okay, no, I didn’t tell her that, but I have good reason! I really think this time could be different, because—Fine.”

Abby abruptly passes the phone back with a huff. Holtz has been listening to this whole one-sided conversation with one eyebrow raised. She’s a little scared to answer.

“Heyo,” she says carefully.

“Jillian, do I have to outline for you all the reasons why it is in your best interest to cease all interaction with Erin from this point on?”

Holtz’s mouth falls open. “Yes, please do,” she says sarcastically. She’s starting to get irritated by the way they all treat her like a child.

“If you insist,” Rebecca says. “First of all, this woman has done nothing but negatively impacted your life for decades now. The entire time Connie and I have known you, you have been a mess as a direct result of her actions and your failed relationship with her.”

“Hey now.” Holtz stands up from the table, hands clenched.

Abby steps closer, mouths _what?_ Holtz hits speakerphone and sets the phone on the table.

“You’ve let your education, career, and romantic life suffer. You let your feelings for her destroy an engagement. You’ve been in and out of major depressive episodes which have included an excess of self-destructive behavior and attempts to end your own life.”

Holtz grumbles a protest, but Rebecca doesn’t even pause.

“You have a history of making questionable, absurd, and even dangerous decisions centered around this woman. As far as we are concerned, she is a poor influence and figure in your life who brings you nothing but pain and disruption.”

“Remember what I said about surrounding yourself with the right people?” Connie interjects.

“But—”

“Furthermore,” Rebecca says, “she left you.”

That shuts Holtz up.

“She left you,” Rebecca continues, “and now she has returned when it is convenient for her. You said she has apologized? How could she possibly apologize for all the damage she caused in your life? How could she know the extent of it? And yet, I assume from your reassurances about how ‘fine’ you are, that you have forgiven her and even intend to attempt a romantic relationship with her, which is unacceptable.”

Holtz’s face is heating up. She regrets putting the phone on speaker. “You don’t understand, I—”

“Broke off your engagement for her,” Rebecca finishes. “Surely you haven’t forgotten that I was the one who implored you to do so?”

“So you _wanted_ me to get back together with Erin if I had the chance,” Holtz says, trying to keep up.

“Certainly not. I wanted you to stop dragging Amber along. I wanted you to move on before getting involved with someone, which you had not done. I never condoned your persisting feeling for Erin, and I certainly do not approve of them.”

“Well, too bad,” Holtz says childishly. “I’m still in love with her, and we’re going to get back together.”

“Jillian,” Rebecca says harshly, “listen to me very carefully when I say this. There is no ‘back together.’ You were never in a relationship with Erin. She never returned your affections, and she left you.”

“You’ve never even met her,” Holtz says hoarsely. The edges of her own wounds are already coming alive.

“Abigail agrees with us.”

Holtz looks over at Abby and swallows. “Abby, you knew that Erin and I had something. You saw it. You told me you saw it. You know that we’re meant to be together.”

Abby hesitates, face pained.

“Abby?” Holtz’s voice breaks.

“I…I don’t know, Holtz. I’m sorry.”

“What happened to ‘I saw the way she looked at you?’” Holtz pleads.

“I’m sorry,” Abby whispers. “I think Rebecca might be right. I got so wrapped up in her being back that I forgot how much it hurt when she left. How bad it was. They didn’t even see the worst of it. And now…I don’t know, Holtz. Who’s to say she won’t do it again?”

Holtz grits her teeth and blinks back tears. “We’re meant to be together,” she says, unsure who she’s talking to. “We’re meant to be together.”

“We just don’t want to see you get hurt again,” Connie says sadly. “We want you to be happy. You may feel happy now that she’s here, but…”

It hangs unspoken. How will she be if it happens again? If Erin leaves again? After everything, what if she leaves again?

She thought it was impossible the first time around, too.

_This time is different_ , her brain protests.

Is it?

She swallows thickly. “Some birthday,” she says, and hangs up.

“Holtz…”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“I’m sorry. That’s all I wanted to say.”

“I am, too,” Holtz says. “I guess I am just an idiot who doesn’t learn from her mistakes, huh?” She laughs once without humour. “Let’s go to work. I need to clear my head.”

“But—”

Holtz is already getting up. She deposits her dirty plate in the sink and washes the sticky chocolate syrup off her hands.

Somehow, she already knows she’s never going to touch the stuff again.

 

Erin feels sick.

She feels sick because tucked under her arm is something that has the potential to ruin her life.

Holtz’s life, too.

She arrives at headquarters hours late. It’s clear the others have been there working for hours. There are four completely rebuilt proton packs hung on the wall. Holtz is sitting at one of her work stations tinkering with something. Abby is talking to her in a low voice. Patty is reading in the corner.

Erin takes a seat in one of the empty booths and unfolds the paper to stare at it some more, like she hasn’t already spent most of her morning doing so.

It takes a few minutes, but Holtz joins her.

“Helpful hint: these work better if you turn the pages,” Holtz says, but her voice doesn’t have the usual emotion in it.

“Just read it,” Erin says, equally as flat.

Holtz pushes her glasses to the top of her head and reaches across the table to pull the paper towards her. Erin doesn’t so much as glance at her while she silently looks over the front page.

“At least they got my good side,” Holtz says quietly, referring to the full-page photo of her punching the blogger.

“Page four.”

Holtz sighs and flips open to the article. Erin’s stomach churns as she reads it, reads the words that Erin has memorized. The injured blogger told his story to the press, but he also told them how to contact Carl Lund, who clearly used the publicity to get back at them once and for all.

Holtz folds the newspaper shut quickly and shoves it away from her.

“Did you read it?” Erin asks, throat sore.

“Yep,” Holtz grunts.

“Even the…”

Holtz turns to look at her, and her stare is so intense that Erin falters.

“The part where he called us _crazy, psychopathic lesbian lovers?_ ” Holtz says it with such bluntness that it makes Erin feel nauseated all over again. “Yeah, I read that part.”

“Why aren’t you upset?”

Holtz laughs harshly. “Because it’s a crock of bull, right?”.

“But it’s going to ruin my—I mean _our_ reputation.”

“ _Do_ you mean ‘our?’”

“Of course,” Erin says quickly. “This doesn’t just affect me.”

“Erin, who cares? Everyone already thinks we’re crazy. Everyone already thinks I’m a psychopath. I don’t give a shit. You need to stop caring what people think about you.”

“But…it’s more than that, it’s…”

“Tell me, Erin, what’s bothering you about this, exactly? None of it’s _true_ , right?” Holtz’s eyes flash dangerously.

Erin has never seen her like this before, like she’s two seconds away from standing up and shouting. Erin shrinks back.

“I’m not—there’s not—it’s not that it bothers me, but—”

“I have a theory,” Holtz says, arms crossed. “It’s not about the crazy part, is it? It’s never been about that.”

“I don’t know what you me—”

“It’s easy to deny what isn’t true,” Holtz says, and stands. “You’re not crazy. People can say that about you until you’re a ghost yourself, but it’s never going to be true. It’s oh-so-easy to turn the other cheek and ignore it, walk away, _leave_ when all you’re leaving behind are lies.”

Erin’s going to throw up. Abby and Patty are watching, listening. Abby keeps inching closer like she’s going to intervene.

“It’s harder,” Holtz continues, “so much harder, to walk away from the truth. The truth has a way of following you, doesn’t it, Erin? The truth has a way of finding you in the end. The truth has a way of dragging you back in, making you come back to it.”

“I’m not crazy,” Erin squeaks.

“No,” Holtz agrees. “You’re not.” Each word is pointed, sharp, aimed to cause the most damage possible. “And like I said, that’s never been what it’s about, right? That’s not why you left.” She presses her palms into the table and leans down towards Erin. “So say it to my face, Erin. Why are you so upset about the article?”

Erin crumples, cowers away from Holtz’s looming presence. The screw-u necklace swinging from her neck has never felt more fitting or more like it belongs there. Erin understands now.

She understands all of it.

She doesn’t say anything.

She can’t.

After a few seconds, Holtz moves away, snatches the newspaper and rolls it up tight, doesn’t meet Erin’s eyes. “Go on then,” she says, voice hollow. “Leave.”

“What?” Erin manages to get out.

“Leave,” Holtz says. “I know you want to.”

“I don’t want to leave.”

Holtz makes eye contact for a second. “But you will, Erin. You will. You will because you’re Erin Gilbert, and that’s what you do. You run away from the truth. At least this time, have the decency to be upfront about it. Leave. I’m giving you permission. In fact, I think it would be better for everyone if we weren’t all sitting around waiting for it to happen.”

Erin can’t breathe and her chest is so tight she thinks she might be having a heart attack. “You want me to leave?” The words sound strange coming out of her mouth, like they’re never supposed to appear in that order.

This can’t be happening.

“Yes,” Holtz says. “I want you to leave.”

Erin stays seated for a few seconds. She can feel Abby and Patty watching her. Holtz watching her.

She stands. Her legs shake. Her hands shake.

She swallows and tries to regulate her breathing. “Okay,” she says, and her voice breaks. “I’ll leave.”

She steps out of the booth.

Turns her back on Holtz. On Jillian.

And she leaves.

 

Erin left.

She left again.

She left again, and she took the Swiss Army knife with her.

Holtz thought that Erin understood what it meant.

She thought that Erin wouldn’t go.

But she did.

She left.

Again.

And this time, there’s nobody to blame but Holtz.

Patty breaks the silence first.

“Damn. I don’t know what just happened, but that was intense.”

“What the crap, Holtzmann?” Abby says a second later, sounding pissed as she storms closer.

Holtz is still watching the door, hoping that Erin will rematerialize in it. She doesn’t take her eyes off it as she says, “I took your advice.”

“I told you that maybe you shouldn’t let yourself fall for her again, to save yourself heartbreak if she leaves again. I didn’t tell you to kick her off the _team_. Jesus, Holtzmann.”

“You heard Rebecca. I need to stop interacting with her,” Holtz says dully. “I don’t need her.”

“Yeah? Well I _do_. Ever think of that? Or did you forget that she’s my friend too? We just got her back, and now you’re going to destroy everything we’ve built here? This isn’t all about you. We’re a _team_.”

“Abby…”

“No. No, you’re not doing this. You need to find her and make this right. I’ll admit that I’ve never understood this relationship stuff, but there is _no_ reason that it should mess up what we’ve got going on. Our work is too important. You can suck it up and work alongside her without letting anything romantic happen. You _have_ to. For the sake of the team and for our research. For _me._ ”

“Abby, she left of her own free will.”

“Because _you_ told her to.”

“Whose side are you on, anyway, Abs?”

“Ay,” Patty interjects, physically coming between them, “maybe we should all chill out and take a breather. Let things settle. I’m sure Erin’ll come back.”

“Yeah,” Abby says, eyes locked with Holtz’s. “I’m sure.”

Holtz huffs and turns around. She returns to her work station and picks up her half-finished sidearms, seething. This is the worst birthday ever.

Hours pass. Tension is still high. Holtz finishes her guns, fits them on her pack, hangs it on the wall with the others. She drums a screwdriver against the table and her fingers itch for a project. Maybe she should disassemble Erin’s proton pack. She won’t be needing it anymore.

Texts come through from Connie, apologizing for Rebecca’s tough-love approach earlier, begging her to call them back. She ignores them.

Erin doesn’t come back.

Patty appears in front of her. “Hey. How ’bout you and me go get lunch?”

Holtz nods sullenly and gets up.

As they walk to a nearby sandwich place, Holtz expects Patty to ask about what’s going on, but she doesn’t.

“How come we all call you Holtzmann?” she wonders aloud instead.

Somehow, that’s a harder question to answer.

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “That’s just who I am, I guess.”

She’s never felt like more of an imposter.

They get their cheesesteaks, and Patty gets an extra to bring back for Abby. Holtz spends the whole walk back waiting for Patty to ask the question, but she never does.

They return to a quiet headquarters. Abby’s in the bathroom. Patty calls for her, tells her that they got a sandwich for her.

Holtz unwraps her own sandwich, sits down, takes a thoughtful bite.

“She’s not answering,” Patty mutters.

Regret twists in Holtz’s gut. She clearly upset Abby. With a sigh, she stands and strides to the bathroom, raps on the door twice. “Abby?”

Nothing.

“Abby, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking and I was being selfish. Can you come out so we can talk about this? We brought you a sandwich.”

Still nothing.

“Abby?”

She’s about to try the door when it swings open, and Abby steps out, getting right into her personal bubble.

“It’s alright, Jillian,” Abby says pleasantly, almost robotically.

The guilt dissipates. Jillian? What the hell is she implying with that? Holtz clenches her jaw. “Are we cool?”

“Most definitely,” Abby says, then pushes right past her, leaving Holtz blinking after her.

She follows Abby out into the main part of the restaurant-lab and watches her pick up a heavy pipe, thwacking it in her palm. She’s about to ask what Abby’s doing when she abruptly turns and rips the Faraday cage right off Holtz’s mounted proton pack.

“What are you _doing?_ ” she shouts.

Abby ignores her and begins smashing the pack with the pipe in her hand.

“What the _fuck_ , Abby?” she screams as she runs. She knew Abby was pissed, but _this?_ Destroying her work? She reaches Abby and tries to wrestle the pipe out of her grasp. “Is this your payback for me wrecking the te—”

She doesn’t get the rest of the word out because at that moment, Abby shoves her, hard enough to knock the wind out of her and send her flying to the ground, where she rolls a few times before coming to a stop, and she wheezes for breath, and she’s vaguely aware of Patty shouting something, too, and the whistle-clang of the pipe hurtling through the air and hitting something, and she struggles, trying to get up, but she can’t because suddenly there’s a tight grip around her neck and she’s hoisted high into the air above Abby’s head and she realizes too late that this can’t possibly be Abby, that this isn’t about their fight or about Erin at all, and that’s when Abby thrusts her backwards through the window and Holtz flinches at the sound of shattering glass, and black spots appear in the corners of her vision and traffic rushes past below her and there’s something intense and menacing in Abby’s eyes and a wicked smile curls on her lips.

“Goodbye,” Abby says, and then she lets go.

The world slows down, freezes, and it happens. It happens just like it does in the movies.

She’s seven years old and she’s rounding the corner in the library, and there’s Erin at the end of the aisle, curled up with a thick book on algebra and chewing on her lip, and she realizes that this isn’t the section she was looking for at all, but she’s found something much better than instructions on how to build a tape recorder.

She’s nine years old and she’s standing beside her mom in her beautiful white dress, and her mom is kissing Mark as everyone cheers, and she wonders if she’ll ever hold someone’s hands under a canopy of flowers because she loves them more than anything in the world.

She’s ten years old and Mrs. Brown is teaching her algebra at her kitchen table, and she thinks about Erin sitting in a classroom alone and decides she’d much rather be learning algebra with Erin instead.

She’s eleven years old and she’s spending long summer days and nights with Erin and she feels like she could take on the world, and she wants to stay right there forever because she doesn’t feel the same when she’s not with Erin, and when she kisses her, she thinks she might know why, and she lets the trees and the stars bare witness as the universe explodes into something new.

She’s thirteen years old and holding her baby brother in her arms for the first time and she tells him all about Erin, because she can’t tell anyone else, and she vows that one day they’ll meet.

She’s fifteen years old and she thinks her life must be over, but Erin is there, and she holds her, and she stitches her ragged heart back together again, and she realizes that her life isn’t over at all.

She’s sixteen years old and she has friends, real friends, and even though everyone tries to make her feel like she doesn’t belong, she finds the one place that she belongs, and she holds onto Erin tight and kisses her in the hopes that she’ll never lose sight of what’s important again.

She’s nineteen years old and she knows what love is now, knows that love is auburn hair and anxiety, tiny bows and a briefcase, late nights and bare skin, warm mornings and math on the back of a woman who will never know the same love that she does.

She’s twenty-one years old and crying alone in her bed because Erin is gone and she’s taken something with her that she doesn’t even know she has.

She’s twenty-five years old and lost, and she doesn’t recognize herself in the mirror, and she fears she’ll never be the same again, but when Rebecca and Connie invite her into their home, she finds her place again, finds herself again, but she never forgets what’s missing.

She’s thirty years old and feeling the wind rush past her on her bike and she discovers she only feels alive when she’s pushing her luck with death, and she realizes she hasn’t felt alive since Erin left, not really.

She’s thirty-one years old and she comes close enough to death to shake its hand, and she thinks that maybe she wasn’t put on this earth to be with Erin, that maybe she wasn’t put on this earth to do anything but leave it.

She’s thirty-two years old and she finds love again but it never feels the same, and she lets it fill in all the cracks in her heart but never seals it off completely.

She’s thirty-four years old and she knows she’s never going to love anyone like she loved Erin, but she tries anyway, and she holds Amber’s hands tightly and decides she’ll try forever.

She’s thirty-five years old and walking with the woman she’s supposed to love forever, but then she sees the woman she’s going to love forever and it’s all over before it even began.

She’s thirty-six years old and watching Erin walk away, the woman she’s loved since the second she laid eyes on her, and she realizes that she never should have doubted that they are meant to be together, that it’s just as much a fact as the existence of ghosts, and she knows that she’ll do anything, _anything_ , to get her back.

She’s thirty-six, and she’s never faced death quite like this, so imminent, and her mind has never been clearer.

Her whole life, all of it, is Erin. It’s always been Erin.

It all comes to her in a burst. Erin, Erin, Erin.

_I love you, Erin_.

And she falls.

 

Erin runs.

She runs faster than she’s ever run before.

She runs in the only direction she knows to run.

She runs back.

 

Instead of slamming to the ground, Holtz slams into the side of the building, her arm nearly ripping out of its socket.

Patty. Patty has her. Patty is fighting Abby off. Patty is pulling her back through the window.

She lands on the sticky floor of the restaurant and rolls over, gasping for breath, trying to force it through her burning windpipe. She closes her eyes and listens to the sound of Patty and Abby struggling and vows that if she makes it through this alive, she’s never going to give up on Erin. Ever.

Not after everything they’ve been through.

Patty slaps the ghost out of Abby and it turns right around and possesses Kevin instead. And then possessed-Kevin takes off on her precious bike, which she had been storing in the garage to add some matching modifications to.

Her bike. She can’t lose it. She just can’t. It symbolizes too much.

Erin, whether or not she’s coming back, has to wait. They have a city to save and a motorcycle to rescue.

Holtz rapidly repairs the damage done to the packs and tries to keep her hands from shaking.

“Holtz?”

She looks up.

“I’m sorry,” Abby says. “For everything.”

Holtz swallows, wincing at the sensation. “I’m sorry, too. For everything.”

Abby nods.

They suit up and get in the Ecto, then start driving in the direction of the swirling green vortex cutting through the suddenly pitch-black sky. They drive until they hit a roadblock, then get out.

There are ghosts everywhere.

_Everywhere._

“A ghost apocalypse? Fellas, you shouldn’t have. Happy birthday to me!” Holtz calls gleefully.

One steals the car, and Holtz mourns its loss, although not as much as the bike.

They continue on foot, and don’t make it very far before they encounter a hoard of massive haunted parade balloons. The three of them shoot down as many as they can using their proton packs, but there are just too many of them.

Holtz can hardly believe it when one overwhelms them and falls, crushing them into the pavement.

She desperately wracks her brain for a solution, but her brain is starting to get foggy from lack of oxygen for the second time today. The weight settles heavy on her, and for a moment, the old voice in her head contemplates surrendering to it.

No, screw that.

If she survived being thrown out a window today, there’s no way she’s going down to a _balloon_. She’s going to get out of this. For Erin. Somehow.

At that moment, the balloon explodes around them, and for a second, she wonders if she caused it to happen through sheer will.

Then she sees the figure striding out of the smoke.

It’s Erin.

She came back.

She came back, and she’s holding Holtz’s Swiss Army knife in her hand.

She locks eyes with Holtz. “Someone told me once that you can do anything if you have the right tools.”

Holtz’s lip wavers. She thinks she actually might cry.

Erin helps up Abby in front of her, then extends a hand for Holtz.

“Thanks for coming back,” Holtz says thickly.

Erin nods.

“And Erin, I…”

Erin touches her arm. “It’s okay. Let’s go save the city, okay?”

Holtz holds her gaze for a second more, then nods. “Let’s go save the city.”

 

They save the city.

It’s Patty who thinks of it, the brilliant idea to direct the hearse into the open portal to cause a counter reaction.

It works. The portal begins to suck all the spectral forms back inside of it.

The only problem is the towering form of their sorry excuse for a supervillain, who seems reluctant to be sucked into the portal where he belongs.

“There’s no time for this!” Abby shouts. “The portal’s closing. I’ll try to lure him in!”

Then she starts running and grabs a cable from an overturned fire truck, looping it around her waist.

“ _What?_ ” Erin chases her. “Are you insane? How are you going to get out?”

Abby pulls at the cable. “This thing’s pretty long.”

“You can’t expect that to work. _Abby._ ” Erin stops her by her arm. “Please. You can’t.” _Not when we’re finally all back together again_.

“C’mon, Erin. I’ve been waiting my entire life to see what’s on the other side. I’m going to take that chance. Besides, it’s the only way.”

“It can’t be the only way,” Erin pleads. She glances over her shoulder. Holtz and Patty are still firing. They don’t seem to be hearing any of this.

“I’m coming back,” Abby reassures her. “You just gotta pull that rope.”

Erin swallows and blinks back tears. “Okay.”

Abby’s eyes are shining a bit, too. “Okay.”

She turns and starts jogging away.

“Abby!” Erin calls.

Abby turns around.

“Listen, I…” There are so many things that Erin wants to say. _I’m sorry. I regret leaving you, both of you. Thank you for taking care of Jillian. Thank you for accepting me back. Thank you for believing me. I’m sorry I was a terrible friend._

“You don’t have to say anything,” Abby says, sounding choked up. “I’m just so glad you came back.”

Overcome with emotion, all Erin can do is nod.

Then Abby turns, and she’s gone.

Erin sniffles as she returns to the others and pulls out her proton wand.

“Alright, let’s keep that portal open.”

“What is she doing?” Holtz says.

Erin looks at her, and she can’t tell her what Abby’s about to do. She just can’t.

She can hear Abby in the distance yelling something up at Rowan.

“Erin, _what_ is she doing?” Holtz shouts.

Erin wipes her eyes with her hand and re-grips her gun. She looks over her shoulder and can see Abby running towards them with Rowan closing in behind her. It’s working.

Then Abby stops suddenly. The cable she’s attached to has hooked itself on a downed streetlight. Erin runs to help her, but Abby has already detached herself from the cable and is running towards the portal without it.

“Abby, stop! Stop!” Erin screams.

“ _Abby!_ ” Holtz yells desperately, having finally figured out what’s happening.

But Abby has already dived headfirst into the portal.

“Abby _no!”_ Holtz cries.

“Abby!” Patty screeches.

Erin is already moving. Before she can even think, she’s back at the streetlight unhooking the cable and tying it around her own waist. Then she’s running back at the portal.

“I’m coming, Abby!”

“No. No! _Erin!”_ Holtz cries.

Erin looks back at her and she can hardly see through the blur of tears. “I’m so sorry, Jillian. I have to.”

And then she jumps.

 

Jillian realizes something the second she watches Erin dive into the portal after Abby.

She realizes that every time she’s been apart from Erin, every time Erin left, every time they had to say goodbye…

It was never the end.

No matter what she thought, she knew deep down it wasn’t over. That they would see each other again. It was the will of the universe for them to return to each other.

This time is different.

This time, it’s over.

Erin is gone. She’s really, truly gone, and Jillian knows without a single doubt that she’s never going to see either her or Abby again.

She crumples to the ground.

 

Erin clings onto Abby with everything she’s got, and she pulls the rope. She pulls the rope for Abby, and for Patty, and for the love of her life, Jillian Holtzmann. She pulls the rope for herself, for her future, for friendship, for love.

She pulls the rope, and before she knows it, the two of them are flying through the fully reformed doors of the Mercado hotel.

She hasn’t even made it upright before Jillian is there, pulling her to her feet and gripping her with more intensity than Erin has experienced in all the goodbyes they’ve ever had combined.

“You did it,” Jillian says against her chest, and it’s obvious she’s crying. “You came back.”

“I came back. I’m here. I’m alive,” Erin says.

Jillian pulls back, and Erin wipes away some of the wetness on her face with the back of her gloved hand. Even like this, she’s so beautiful. Erin’s heart aches with gratitude that they’re all alive.

“I always told you that you’d save the world, Ghost Girl,” Jillian says hoarsely.

Erin takes hold of both her hands and feels her own tears flowing freely again. “ _We_ saved the world,” she says. “Together.”

Jillian considers her and squeezes her hands. “We can do anything as long as we’re together.”

Erin pulls her back in tightly. “We better stay together forever, then.”

“No more jumping into ghost portals,” Jillian mutters.

“I promise,” Erin says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Once they’ve recovered Kevin (and the mangled remains of Holtz’s motorcycle, much to her dismay), the five of them stumble back to headquarters in a mess of adrenaline and emotions. Holtz won’t stop reaming Abby out for being dumb enough to jump in the portal, and Abby won’t stop reliving what it was like to glimpse the Other Side. Patty keeps shaking her head and calling them all idiots. Erin is mostly silent. Holtz holds Erin’s hand the whole time, unwilling to let her get further than a foot away from her. Erin doesn’t seem to protest at all.

At HQ, they dump their gear and pile into one of the booths. There’s plenty of room for the five of them, but Holtz ends up squished right up against Erin. She doesn’t mind.

They talk, and decompress, and dig out leftover pizza from the minifridge Erin bought them and eat it. Holtz continues to hold Erin’s hand under the table.

Then, overcome with exhaustion as the adrenaline wears off, they start dropping like flies. Kevin unrolls an honest-to-God sleeping bag from his pile of suitcases and curls up in it in the middle of the room. Abby, who can fall asleep anywhere, slides to the floor and passes out with an empty pizza box under her head like a pillow. Patty retreats to the other booth and stretches out on the seat.

That leaves Erin and Holtz in the current booth.

“Big day,” Holtz says casually.

“Very big,” Erin agrees. “Oh! Wait here, I have something for you.”

Curious, Holtz moves to let Erin out and watches her bend to retrieve a bag beside her briefcase.

“Close your eyes,” Erin instructs.

Holtz obliges. She hears the sound of a plastic container being opened, something heavy being set on a table, the microwave being opened and started.

She should probably guess what’s happening, but she doesn’t piece it together before Erin sets something on the table in front of her and tells her to open her eyes.

It’s a mug cake.

“It’s a little lopsided…” Erin starts.

“It’s perfect.”

Erin gives a little half-smile. “Happy birthday, Holtz.”

She crawls back over to the other side of her and hands Holtz a fork.

Holtz lifts the fork and clinks it to Erin’s. “To saving the world.”

Erin echoes the sentiment. They eat the cake together. When it’s nothing but crumbs, they retire their forks into the empty mug. Then after a few minutes, Erin silently leans her head against Holtz’s shoulder like she used to do, way back when.

Holtz can tell that Erin’s trying not to fall asleep, but after about fifteen minutes, her breathing evens out. Holtz doesn’t disturb her.

She looks around the room at her little family, her little family who just saved the city from a paranormal apocalypse and came out of it alive, and she feels warm and secure for the first time in a long time.

It’s with that feeling that she finds herself drifting off to sleep as well.

She wakes up an undetermined amount of time later to her name being called and with great difficulty opens her eyes. She’s almost completely draped over Erin, who somehow moved to curl up in the booth overnight. She lifts her head from its place against Erin’s shoulder and rubs her stiff neck.

“We have a slight situation,” Abby says, holding a phone about an inch from her face.

“Can it wait? I was comfy,” Holtz groans. She squints blearily and recognizes it a second later as Abby’s phone. There are a number of missed calls and texts from Connie.

“Shit,” Holtz says, and carefully extracts herself from Erin and climbs out of the booth. “Where’s my phone?”

“Dunno. Work bench?”

Holtz steps over Kevin’s sleeping form on the floor and digs through her table of crap until she finds her phone buried at the very bottom.

A dozen texts, three missed calls, and two voicemails all from Connie, dating back to before lunch the previous day. The latest text reads: _Also please tell me that wasn't your hearse. Please tell me you didn't do anything stupid._

Holtz curses again and checks her watch. It’ll be mid-afternoon their time. She immediately dials Connie.

The answer is almost immediate.

“Connie Williams,” the voice on the other end says shakily.

Holtz is baffled by the greeting for a second, then realizes that Connie must be half-expecting a first responder.

“It’s me,” she says quickly.

“Oh, thank God,” Connie says. “Are you okay?”

Holtz glances over to where Erin is still asleep in the booth. “Never been better.” She thinks about that for a moment and touches her neck, which most likely already has bruises forming. “Well, no, that’s a lie. But I’m okay, yes.”

“What do you mean that’s a lie?”

“I’m a little banged up. Some standard stuff. Nothing that will be around in a day or two. I’m fine, really.”

“A little _banged up?_ ”

“I got dangled out a window by my neck.”

“You _wha_ t?”

“Nothing’s broken. No lasting damage. Everything’s cool!”

“Jesus Christ, Holtz…”

“Honestly, it was not the worst part of my day yesterday, if I’m being completely honest. My bike got totaled.”

There’s a long stretch of silence. “But there’s nothing broken?”

“Only a sad and pathetic man-child,” Holtz scoffs.

“....I don’t think I want to know. How’s Abby?”

“Abby is…standing right in front of me listening to my every word.”

“Sorry for missing your calls!” Abby says.

“Did you hear that? She said she’s sorry that she missed your calls. Me too. We were, uh…a little preoccupied.” Holtz plugs her ear and walks out to the stairwell landing, closing the door behind her for a little privacy and so she won’t wake up the others.

“Yes, so I’ve read.” A pause. “Exactly how long have you been researching the paranormal with Abby?”

Holtz chokes on her own spit. “Uhhhhhhhhhhh...not...that...long? Only like...a few years? Four years? Four years officially and twenty years unofficially?"

There’s another long pause. “I’m going to pass the phone Becca and you can tell her you’re okay while I get headphones so we can both hear. We’re on the train to London right now. Here’s Becca.”

“Jillian,” the stern voice of her mentor comes through.

_Shit_.

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...hey, Becca. How’s Europe?”

“Better than New York currently, it seems.”

Holtz coughs.

“So I guess you heard, huh? Cat’s out of the bag on that one.”

“Indubitably...one moment, Jillian, Connie needs to put in the headphones.”

There’s some rustling on the other end.

“You’ve got both of us now, kid.”

“Heyyy. So what do you know already?”

“Well, we know you, Abby and…your Ghostbusting crew were somehow involved with whatever the hell went down.”

“And that you apparently built a weaponized miniature synchrotron,” Rebecca interjects, “which I am very interested in hearing more about.”

“Me too,” Connie says. “Perhaps you’d better start from the beginning, kid.”

Holtz snorts and settles into one of the chairs at the top of the stairs. “From the beginning, huh? How long of a train ride have you got?”

 

Erin wakes up and for a few moments wonders why she’s asleep in a restaurant booth, and then the events of the previous day come flooding back. She pushes herself upright and rubs her eyes.

Abby is sitting on the edge of the booth table with her legs swinging, one hand buried in a bag of chips from Holtz’s snack stash. She looks over her shoulder. “Morning, Erin.”

“Morning…Abby…” Erin glances around the room. Kevin is asleep on the floor still. Patty is snoring from the next booth over. “Where’s Holtz?”

“On the phone with Connie,” Abby says, jabbing her thumb in the direction of the door.

Erin’s stomach prickles. “Oh. Do you know how long she’s going to be?”

Abby shrugs and crunches down on a chip. “You could go ask her.”

Erin shuffles out of the booth and rubs her eyes again. She stretches her neck from side to side and rolls her shoulders back. “Maybe I will.”

Abby shrugs again, this time in a ‘I don’t care what you do’ way.

When Erin slides open the door, she finds Holtz sitting in one of the chairs at the top of the stairs, phone pressed to her ear.

“—and I love you and know where you were coming from, but I’m never going to change my mind, not after yesterday. Life is too short to pretend that—Erin!” She lights up when she sees Erin’s frozen form hesitating by the door.

She _loves_ her?

Seriously, _who_ is Connie?

“Erin’s here,” Holtz says into the phone, not taking her eyes off Erin. “You want to say hi to her?” There’s a pause as Connie replies, and then Holtz visibly pouts. “Don’t be rude, Becca, you’ve never even met her.”

_Becca?_

Holtz rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, alright. I heard you the first time around. Anyways, I’d better let you get on with your day. Talk later? Take lots of pics of London for me and I’ll try to send you my blueprints as soon as the dust settles around here…Yeah, you too…No, I swear I’ll keep my phone glued to my person from now on…Alright, have a good day…Bye!”

She hangs up and smiles at Erin.

“I thought you were talking to Connie,” Erin says pointedly. How many other women are there?

Holtz’s forehead crinkles. “I was.”

“Then who’s Becca?”

Holtz raises an eyebrow. “Rebecca? I told you about her?”

It takes a second for the pieces to click together. “Dr. Rebecca Gorin? Your mentor? That’s who was just on the phone?”

“Yup.”

“So…how does Connie come into play? Who is she?”

“I told you, a friend,” Holtz says.

“Yes, but…how does she fit in?”

“To what?”

“To…Dr. Gorin.”

Holtz snorts. “Quite well, I imagine.”

“What?”

“She fits into Reb—no, you know, never mind. Let’s not go there.”

“Holtz, I don’t understand. Just tell me how you know Connie.”

“By association.”

“By association with…Dr. Gorin?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Are they colleagues?”

“You could say that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“They used to be colleagues. Sort of.”

“Oh. Okay. That’s all I wanted to know.”

A few seconds pass.

“But why were they both on the phone?” Erin says.

“Because they’re in Europe at a conference together.”

“Oh. So they _are_ colleagues?”

“You could say that.”

“Holtzmann. Not this again.”

“What?” Holtz leans back with her hands behind her head and that’s when Erin realizes she’s doing this on purpose.

“Tell it to me straight. What is the relationship between Dr. Rebecca Gorin and Connie?”

“Not straight, that’s for sure.”

“What?”

“Their relationship. It’s not straight.”

“I…I don’t…”

“They’re married, Erin.”

“They— _married?_ ”

Oh. _Oh._

They’re married.

Everything makes sense now.

Erin’s an idiot.

“Why didn’t you say that to begin with?” Erin grumbles.

“This was more fun,” Holtz replies with a grin. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

Erin’s face burns. “I wasn’t jealous.”

Holtz chuckles. “Yeah, right.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Sure.”

“I’m going back inside,” Erin huffs, and she turns just to try and calm the tingling in her stomach from Holtz calling her cute. God, she feels like a sixteen-year-old.

Although, how would her life have turned out if she _had_ felt like this as a sixteen-year-old?

She tries not to dwell on that thought for too long.

Holtz follows right after her. “Oh, good, everyone’s up,” she says cheerfully.

“Kevin’s asleep on the floor,” Erin points out.

“As it turns out, our little near-apocalypse yesterday has already garnered an onslaught of media attention. It managed to reach the Moms all the way in Europe, so that should tell you something.”

“What’s the news sayin’ about what happened?” Patty asks.

“Mix of stuff. There are a lot of reports of it being an explosion caused gas-leak.”

Abby boos.

Holtz holds up a finger. “But there are also a number of reports about the obvious paranormal activity. Hundreds of eye-witnesses. _And_ there’s already been speculation about our involvement. Rebecca and Connie found full profiles on all of us. The truth is out there, you guys. I bet you anything the media has been trying to get ahold of us.”

“Then why hasn’t the phone been ringing?” Erin says.

They all look towards Kevin’s desk.

Abby sighs. “He left it off the hook.”

“Keviiiin,” Holtz groans.

“Yeah, boss?”

They all look at the ground. He’s still curled up, eyes shut, breathing evenly.

“Is he…awake?” Patty squints down at him.

Abby shakes her head. “I’m going to check our email.”

Sure enough, there are hundreds of emails for them, sent by everyone from CNN to paranormal enthusiasts across the world to regular old citizens. Countless media outlets are requesting interviews, likeminded investigators are commending them on saving the city from ghosts, civilians are demanding to know why they used this horrific accident to generate publicity for their fake ghost-hunting club. Erin grits her teeth.

There’s also have a dozen emails from the mayor’s assistant with instructions to decline all interviews until she meets with them to discuss how to move forward. Abby emails her back and says they can meet her later in the day.

After that, they break and head for their respective homes. There’s still a general air of madness outside, cars all over the place, hoards of people. Nobody gives her a second glance as she walks by. Nobody knows that she saved the city with her friends last night.

And maybe that’s okay.

Not because she’s ashamed, not because of the association with the paranormal, but because she likes just being Erin Gilbert. She likes walking along a street and not turning heads.

Now she understands why superheroes have secret identities.

Not that she’s a superhero by any stretch. She wasn’t even the one who saved the city. It was Patty, with her incredible ingenuity. It was Abby, with her selfless courage. It was Holtz, with her ground-breaking technology, without which they wouldn’t have stood a chance.

All Erin did was save Abby, and she’s more than okay with that being her legacy.

 

Everything falls into place very quickly after they save the world.

They meet with the mayor’s assistant, and she tells them that they can _quietly_ continue their research, fully funded. They’re allowed any resources they need to ‘better prepare’ for an event like this in the future.

She calls up Rebecca and Connie immediately to brag about her new government-funded research possibilities, and they sound proud but still peeved about the fact that she hid research from them for years and also how she very nearly got herself killed multiple times in one day. She doesn’t exactly blame them.

The four of them unanimously agree on what their first order of business should be, and within a few days, a lease has been signed on the beautiful old firehouse that they viewed back when they were first looking for lab space. Holtz claims the entire second floor, and the others argue with her, but not hard enough.

They pack up their current space, and Holtz would be lying if she said she wasn’t a little sad to say goodbye to it, but it’s time to move on to bigger and better things.

Yes, everything is falling into place perfectly.

Or at least, almost everything.

 

After they’ve said goodbye to their restaurant-lab, Erin hangs back and lets the others head down ahead of her. Then she ducks underneath the booth where she fell asleep with Holtz the other night, wrinkling her nose at the crusted food and the gum stuck to the underside of the table.

She finds a blank patch, though, and she pulls out Holtz’s Swiss Army knife and quickly carves a tiny _GG + RJ_ into the wood.

Then she pockets the knife and leaves the restaurant behind.

 

They move into the firehouse.

Holtz gets to work right away building a massive containment unit to house any ghosts that they catch in the future. They’ve been receiving calls left right and centre about ghosts that lost their one-way ticket back to hell, but they can’t do anything about them until they’ve got a way to store them securely.

Within a few weeks post-apocalypse, she has a semi-functioning prototype up and running.

She’s also been working on setting up a lab for herself on her claimed second floor, where she can run amok without anyone shaming her for her lab conduct.

“Where is Jillian?”

Holtz freezes from her place on the second floor and casts a panicked glance at Erin beside her, who she’s been demoing some new tech for.

She’d know that voice anywhere.

“Who?”

“Jillian Holtzmann. She works here, does she not?”

“Uhh, I dunno. The only person around here that I can think of is Holtzmann, but she doesn’t have a first name.”

“Dr. Gorin! What a pleasant surprise!”

“Abigail,” Rebecca says stiffly by way of greeting. “Is Jillian here?”

“Uh, yeah, she’s upstairs,” Abby says, raising her volume above a normal conversational volume.

Meanwhile, Holtz is looking for an escape route, a hiding place, something.

“Holtz? What’s—”

Holtz throws her hand over Erin’s mouth. “Shhhhh.”

Erin pulls away and frowns.

There are footsteps on the stairs. At the last second, Holtz spots the firepole. Bingo.

She slides down and lands smack in front of Connie, who’s standing there with her arms crossed and a disapproving, albeit smug, expression on her face.

“She fell for it, Becca,” she calls.

Rebecca is only a third of the way up the stairs, and she joins them immediately.

“ _Abby,_ ” Holtz hisses. “How could you play me like this?”

Abby holds her hands up. “Hey, I didn’t know they were stopping by.”

“Why _are_ you here, by the way?” Holtz asks. “No offense, but aren’t you supposed to be in Europe?”

“We’re supposed to be in Boston, actually,” Connie says. “Changed our flights coming home so we could come check on you instead.”

Holtz curses.

“Holtz, what’s going on?” Erin calls as she descends the stairs. “Why are you acting so—oh!”

They all turn and look at her in synchronicity. She falters on the second-to-last step.

“Dr. Gilbert, I assume,” Rebecca says icily.

Erin’s eyes go wide as she looks back and forth between Rebecca and Holtz.

“Erin,” Holtz says dully, “this is Dr. Rebecca Gorin and her wife Connie Williams.”

Erin turns several shades whiter.

Connie steps forward and shakes her hand, and Holtz can tell from here how firm of a grip she uses. “Connie. Heard a lot about you, Erin.”

“I…”

“A _lot_ about you.” Connie crosses her arms again.

Erin looks like she’s going to shit her pants.

Holtz has never seen Connie like this, using every inch of her bulk to make someone feel uncomfortable and threatened. It’s the furthest thing from the warm and welcoming Connie she knows. This is even scarier than Rebecca.

“Jillian,” Rebecca says sharply.

Holtz flinches. “Yes?”

“Now that I have you here in person, would you care to enlighten me as to what in God’s name you’ve been _thinking_ this past month?”

“I—”

“I will answer that for you. You clearly have _not_ been thinking. The _risks_ you have put yourself and everyone around you in recently are _unacceptable_.”

“I’m—”

“We looked at your blueprints, kid,” Connie says. “Seven safety errors. _Seven_. And that’s _just_ on the miniature synchrotron. Don’t even get me _started_ on the trap you built. I’d be surprised if you all didn’t _already_ have cancer. Do you even _care?_ I thought we taught you better than this.”

Holtz has never seen Connie this mad before. Or mad, period. She realizes just how much they’ve been holding out on her over the phone these past few weeks.

“What do you want me to s—”

“You could’ve _died_ , Holtz, you realize that? You could’ve died from your own faulty equipment, or you could’ve killed anyone in this room.”

“Not you guys,” Holtz mutters. “You were conveniently on a different continent.”

“Don’t be a smartass,” Rebecca snaps.

“Whoa, whoa,” Abby says. “I think this might be a little uncalled for—”

Rebecca spins on her. “Don’t think you’re not to blame either, Abigail.”

Abby holds her hands up with an appropriate expression of fear. “What did _I_ do?”

“You allowed Jillian to hide her research from us for years. You acted rashly and threw yourself into a portal to another dimension of which we know nothing about, which goes against everything you should know as a respectable scientist. You have been encouraging poor safety practices for God knows how many years. Jillian told us about the incident in the subway, and how you _rushed her_ into using untested, unstable equipment which nearly resulted in the death or injury of members of your team.”

“Listen, we already talked about that and I apologized to her. I admit, I was an idiot. I never should have pushed her.”

“Furthermore,” Rebecca says, completely ignoring Abby, “You let Jillian go off the rails several days in a row, including letting her become intoxicated alone after the subway incident, which very nearly led her to a full-scale breakdow—”

Holtz coughs loudly to stop her, her face turning very red. Erin doesn’t need to hear all of this.

Abby crosses her arms. “She’s an adult. I’m not her mother, and neither are you. She can go make her own poor choices if she wants.”

“She was _vulnerable_ and you knew it,” Rebecca spits. “You took on a responsibility to look out for her—”

“I can’t babysit her 24/7.”

“Guys—” Holtz tries to get out.

“You _took on a responsibility_ ,” Rebecca repeats, “to protect her. And then you let _that woman_ waltz back in here without any repercussions for her actions, and not only did you let her stay but you _encouraged_ Jillian to engage with her and forgive her. A woman who has caused lasting psychological damage that has taken _years_ of work to come even _close_ to dealing with. You let her come back, and you willingly let Jillian suffer the consequences, which makes you equally as culpable.”

Erin, if possible, has turned even paler. Meanwhile, Patty has joined them from upstairs, drawn down by the shouting, and is standing on the stairs watching and listening with wide eyes.

Rebecca whirls back to face Erin, and Erin looks like she actually might soil herself.

“Dr. Gilbert, I do not care how prolific of a particle physicist you are. I do not care about your involvement in the recent events that saved the city. I do not care how welcome your colleagues have made you feel. Neither Abigail nor Jillian is prepared to tell you what you need to hear, but I am. You had your chance to be involved in their lives, you knew what you meant to them, especially Jillian, and you walked away. You will _never_ understand the extent of the damage you caused in doing so. I have no patience for cowardice, Dr. Gilbert, nor those who willfully play ignorant to the affections of those around them. The human heart is fragile, Dr. Gilbert, and not something to be fooled around with. It’s time for you to own up to your actions and acknowledge the consequences of your presence here. It’s time for you to leave, Dr. Gilbert.”

Holtz, who has been listening to this tirade with horror, finally finds her voice. “No!” she cries.

“You’re too close to this, Holtz,” Connie says grimly. “You can’t see what she’s doin’ to you.”

“Like _hell_ I can’t,” Holtz shouts. “I’m thirty-fucking-six years old, for fuck’s sake. Would you people _stop it?_ You’ve never even _met_ Erin before now, and you have the audacity to march in here like you know everything and tell her to _leave?_ ”

“Holtz…”

“ _No,”_ Holtz snaps at Connie. She’s so mad that her whole body is shaking. Connie, on the other hand, now looks like maybe she knows they’ve gone too far. Holtz inhales roughly. “Get out. Both of you. Get out of here.”

Rebecca appraises her with her lips pressed together. “If that’s what you want.”

“I want you gone more than I want Erin gone,” Holtz barks, crossing her arms.

“Fine,” Rebecca says, clipped and _almost_ indifferent except for the tiny, barely noticeable waver in her voice. Anyone else would’ve missed it, but to Holtz, Rebecca may as well have shouted through a megaphone that she knows she fucked up.

She leaves anyway like the hypocrite she is. So much for owning up to your actions.

Connie looks back at Holtz with a pained expression, and she looks much more like the Connie that Holtz has known for eleven years. “Sorry, kid,” she says with a sigh, shoulders slumped as she follows her wife.

There’s a few seconds of silence after the door shuts where everything that just happened reverberates around the massive room.

“Thanks for visiting the Ghostbusters,” Kevin calls.

“Damn,” Patty says quietly. “That was…”

“Holtz…” Abby starts.

But Holtz is already running. Away from Rebecca and Connie, away from Abby, away from Patty and Kevin.

Away from Erin.

 

Erin doesn’t know exactly where Holtz was heading, but she follows a pull, deep in her gut, and it tells her where to find her.

Erin reaches the roof, and she’s there, of course she is, nearly invisible in the shadows, tucked into the corner where the ledges intersect.

Their Spot.

She crosses the roof and joins her there. Holtz doesn’t tear her eyes away from the skyline. Erin notices at once what she’s looking at. Dozens of messages for them, spelt out of glittering building lights. Messages thanking the Ghostbusters, professing love and appreciation. It’s all there, shining on the horizon.

“That’s incredible,” Erin breathes.

Holtz glances at her for a fleeting second, and the intensity of her gaze takes Erin’s breath away for a moment.

Without saying anything, Holtz turns and sinks to the ground, leans her back against the ledge, stretches out her legs. Erin watches her, then follows.

“Do you remember the day we met?” Erin says.

“I remember everything,” Holtz says.

“I know.” Erin looks up at the sky above them and takes a deep breath. “But I don’t think you remember like I do.”

Holtz sniffs.

“I was in the Natural Science section doing algebra,” Erin continues. “You were wearing purple overalls and an orange sweater even though it was August and it was sweltering. Yellow and black gumboots. You had your bag, your patchwork bag. Your glasses were too big for your face. There was a peace sign button pinned to your overalls. You were missing two teeth on the bottom.” She opens her mouth and taps them. “This one and this one.”

“I remember.”

“I know.” Erin fiddles with her hands. “You were trying to build a tape recorder. You kept asking me questions. You kept talking to me. I didn’t want you to. I didn’t trust you. I didn’t trust anyone. But you kept talking to me. You talked to me even when I was rude and dismissive. I gave you a fake name because I didn’t even trust you enough for that.”

“Stacy,” Holtz says dully.

“I thought Stacy was the kind of person I wanted to be. The kind of kid who had friends, who didn’t see ghosts, who wasn’t a loser. But then you joined my class. I was humiliated that my cover had been blown. But you met Erin, and you kept talking to Erin. You kept talking to me. You followed me even when I told you not to, even when you knew that every other kid hated me, even when you knew I was a liar and an asshole and a weirdo. You followed me anyway. I never deserved a friend like you, but you stuck with me anyway.” Her throat is tight. “I still don’t deserve you, but here you are. Here we are.”

“Here we are,” Holtz echoes. “Back where we always end up. The spot where the lines intersect. Over and over, Erin. We always come back here.”

Erin hazards a glance. Holtz is staring straight ahead, expression smooth.

“At least there are no bears,” Erin says softly.

That gets a muted chuckle. “Could be lurking in the shadows over there.” Holtz points across the roof.

Erin smiles. They fall to silence. A minute passes and all she can hear are their out of sync breaths and the sounds of the city below them.

Carefully, slowly, she leans her head against her shoulder like she’s done many times before.

“Holtz…”

“Jillian.”

Erin lifts her head in surprise, looks at her. “Really?”

Jillian exhales and nods, still not meeting her eyes.

Erin settles her head back down on her shoulder. “Jillian.” Using the name after so long feels like coming home.

“Jillian, I…” Erin closes her eyes. “I’ve never deserved you. Never. I didn’t deserve you the first time around, and I didn’t deserve a second chance. Or a third.”

There’s a pause. “You don’t get to decide what you deserve. The defendant doesn’t decide their sentence.”

“I think the jury would agree with me,” Erin says quietly.

“Well, I don’t.”

Erin bites her lip. Her eyes are still closed. “In that case, there’s something I need to tell you.”

There’s no reply, just Jillian’s steady breathing, so Erin takes that as a sign to continue.

“I know that I’m fifteen years too late, and I know that you moved on—I mean I really know, I saw on Facebook, I know you were engaged. I know that I’ve missed my shot, and I know that I was never really worthy of one to begin with. I know that nothing’s the same as it was, and I know that it will never be the same again because of what I did.” She inhales. “But I’m going to tell you anyway. I need to.” She squeezes her eyes shut even tighter. “I love you, Jillian. I love you. I’m in love with you, and I always have been, even before I knew what love was, before I knew I _could_ love you. I realized it too late, but I need to tell you anyway so you know. Because if there’s even the smallest chance that you could ever love me back again, I need to know. And if there’s not, I’ll…I’ll have to deal with that. I’ll leave again if you need me to. Like Dr. Gorin said. If this is going to be too hard for you, I’ll leave. It would be…the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. But I would, if that’s what you wanted. And I’m taking this chance, because whatever happens, I need you to know. I love you, Jillian Holtzmann, I love you more than I ever thought possible, and I’ll love you until my dying day. No—not my dying day. I’ll keep loving you after that, too. I’ll love you forever, Jillian. Now you know.”

The world slows. Quiet. It’s quiet. There’s nothing, nothing, nothing but Jillian and her in the corner of this shadowed roof, two specks in an ever-expanding universe, two blips in the history of the cosmos, insignificant.

And yet, nothing has ever been as important as Jillian, steady, still, silent beside her.

 

_“You could practice on me.”_

_She does. She lets Jillian press their lips together, warm, soft, and that warmth travels from her mouth down to her stomach like a sip of a hot beverage on a cold day, but it sits with her, stays with her, radiates inside her for days and weeks and months and years. She thinks about it. She doesn’t stop._

_She thinks about Jillian. She thinks about her every day of her entire life, thinks about the way it hurts to breathe when they’re apart, thinks about how she could spend her entire life with Jillian right by her side, never straying far at all from each other, and it fills her with a kind of longing that makes her cry._

_So she holds Jillian’s hand like a flashlight in the night and she practices how to love her forever._

“Erin?”

She opens her eyes.

She opens her eyes, and there’s Jillian.

“I never stopped loving you,” Jillian says softly. “Not for one minute.”

For a second, Erin is too stunned to do anything but blink at her.

Then there’s only one thing she _can_ do.

She grips Jillian’s head in her hands and pulls her in close and kisses her like it’s their last day on earth, like she should have been doing for the past twenty-four years since the first time they kissed under the stars, and she swears she can feel the two invisible threads of the universe that have been spiraling and twisting and dancing around each other for so many years be stitched together at last.

She kisses Jillian, and the stars and the skyline glow strong.

And they are alight.

And they are alive.

And they are together.

 

Jillian holds Erin’s hand as tightly as humanly possible as they walk downstairs an hour or so later.

When they get to the first floor, they find an awkward-looking Patty and Abby talking to Connie, who’s sitting on one of the couches in the waiting area. Rebecca, meanwhile, is pacing back and forth. Everyone falls silent and turns to them when they get to the bottom of the stairs.

Abby’s eyes go right to their clasped hands, as do Connie’s, but Rebecca stops pacing and holds eye contact with Jillian.

“Hey,” Jillian says. “You better be here to apologize.”

Connie stands from her place on the couch. “We are.”

Jillian looks at Connie. “Both of you?”

Connie clears her throat. “Yes. Holtz, I’m s—”

“Hold on,” Jillian says, holding up a hand to stop her. “Before you say anything, there’s someone I’d like to introduce you to.” She looks up at Erin for a moment, then back at Rebecca and Connie. “This is Erin. I’ve known her since I was seven years old and she’s been the love of my life for as long as I can remember. No offence to the rest of you, but she’s always been the most important person in my life, and I love her more than anything in the universe.”

Silence.

“And, uh, we’re dating,” Erin adds.

“Oh, yeah, and we’re dating,” Jillian confirms, squeezing Erin’s hand with a smile. Erin squeezes back immediately.

More silence, and then Connie slowly walks over. She hesitates for a second, then extends a hand to shake Erin’s free one.

“S’really nice to meet you, Erin,” she says. “I’m Connie, and I’m really sorry about earlier. Think we can start over?”

Jillian glances at Erin in time to watch her bite her lip and smile. “Yeah. We can.”

“Alright,” Connie says with a warm smile. Then she looks to Jillian, and her smile falls. “Holtz…”

Jillian holds a hand up. “It’s okay. I know.”

“No, it’s not okay. I’m sorry, Holtz. Of course you know what’s best for yourself. We just wanted to see you happy, kid, but—” She looks at Erin again— “I think I understand what you were trying to tell us, now. I’m real sorry for what I said and for doubting you.”

Jillian reaches out to pull Connie in for a side hug without letting go of Erin. “Thank you. You’re gonna love Erin once you get to know her. I promise.”

“I’m sure I will,” Connie says as she releases her and steps aside.

And then there’s Rebecca, standing there with her lips pressed firm together and her arms crossed.

“Rebecca, I—”

Rebecca holds up a hand to stop her. “It has come to my attention that I overstepped earlier. That was not my intention.”

Jillian sighs. “I know.”

Rebecca turns to Erin. “Dr. Gilbert…”

Erin’s grip tightens in fear and anticipation. Jillian steps forward slightly, ready to defend her if need be.

Rebecca visibly grits her teeth but takes a deep breath. “ _Erin_.”

“Y-yes ma’am?”

Rebecca rolls her eyes at that. “Just Dr. Gorin.” She inhales again. “Erin, you will not earn my trust overnight, nor do I feel I owe you an apology for what I said earlier. I know what you have done to her in the past, and if you hurt her again, intentionally or unintentionally…”

Rebecca doesn’t even have to finish the threat and Erin is already completely tensed up.

“Dr. Gorin, believe me, I know I have a lifetime of mistakes that I need to atone for. But I promise you, I will never stop trying to earn the trust of everyone in this room. I’m going to do everything in my power to never hurt Jillian, _or_ Abby, ever again. I’m not going anywhere. Not now, and not for the foreseeable future. I love our little Ghostbusters family. I love Abby. And I love Jillian. I care about her happiness as much as you do. Maybe even more.”

Connie chuckles.

“And I hope that over time, I can prove to you that I’m the right person for Jillian and that you can grow to trust me. I’m gathering that you guys are very important to her and I don’t want...” Erin laughs nervously. “Well, I don’t want you to hate me.”

“Keep an open mind, Becca?” Jillian pleads. “And remember that people can change?”

Rebecca considers them, then nods curtly. “Very well. I will hold judgement to the best of my ability until a later date, and give both of you a chance to prove that I should trust your word.”

“Thank you,” Jillian says. She knows that that’s as much of an apology they’re going to get from Rebecca for now.

“Now that that’s all sorted,” Rebecca says, “Connie and I are eager to inspect your containment unit and other equipment.”

“We’re doing a massive safety overhaul,” Connie says. “Considering how many violations and errors we saw in the blueprints you gave us, I’m expecting to find a lot wrong with that unit. Am I right?”

“…Maybe.”

“Well, before you go running off to do that…” Abby says, and then she’s colliding with both Jillian and Erin and enveloping them in the tightest hug ever. “I can’t believe you nerds finally got your acts together! _How_ many years has it been? Seriously?” She steps back and glares at Erin. “I know the Moms already gave you this lecture, but I swear to God, Erin, if you leave again or do _anything_ to hurt her, I will open up another portal, throw you in it, and leave you in there to fend for yourself.”

“Jesus,” Jillian says.

“I’m serious.”

“Oh, I know,” Jillian says.

“But I’m really, really happy for you guys. If you still have even a tenth of the connection you used to…”

“Preeetty sure we still do,” Jillian says.

“I don’t know,” Erin says. “I think we have something better.”

“Jillian?” Rebecca calls from in front of the containment unit.

“Coming!” Jillian looks back at Erin, reluctant to part from her.

“Go on,” Erin says. “Go listen to your moms.” She looks anxious for a second. “Is that okay to say?”

Holtz laughs and kisses her cheek. “Yeah. It is.” Then she lets go of her hand and strides over to the containment unit. “Alright, what’ve we got cooking over here?”

Rebecca and Connie proceed to spend the next four hours completely tearing apart her containment unit and lab, logging every last safety concern and violation, and berating her for all her oversights both with her new tech and existing tech. She shows them the proton packs in person, and while they don’t let her hear the end of how dangerous they are, they do seem impressed by her work.

She’s missed this.

By the time they’re finished, everyone else has long since retired to other areas of the firehouse, keen to stay out of the line of fire. Patty, Erin, and Abby are all upstairs somewhere, and Kevin is on the phone for what sounds like a radio contest and not paying them any attention.

Rebecca clears her throat to bring Jillian’s attention back to her. “There is a reason your work here is unprecedented, Jillian.”

“Nobody else is smart enough to have thought of it first?” Jillian guesses hopefully.

Rebecca tilts her head with a disapproving look. “The technology in this building should not exist.”

Jillian looks at the ground, ashamed that she’s disappointed her for the billionth time in her life. “Sorry.”

There’s a pause.

“I am very proud of you, Jillian.”

Jillian’s head snaps up. “Really?”

Rebecca nods. “You have done work here that nobody else has been idiotic enough to pursue, and that is how all great scientific leaps are made. I have never doubted your potential, Jillian, and this proves what you are capable of creating. I know with certainty that your contributions to the field over the rest of your career will be both prolific and long-lasting.”

Jillian licks her lips and nods slowly. “I’d love to take all the credit, but I owe most of my success to my mentor. I wouldn’t be half the engineer I am if it weren’t for her.” She pauses. “And I wouldn’t be a tenth of the person I am without either of you.” She wrings her hands. “I really am sorry that I hid all this from you. Not just the ghost stuff, but Erin coming back, too. I guess I was just scared that you would react…well, like you did. I know it doesn’t look very good, me getting together with her after what she did to me, and I know that you think I’m making a mistake by forgiving her, but—”

“Jillian.”

Jillian stops.

Rebecca sighs. “You are an intelligent woman and not one to forget the past. I trust your judgement on this matter.” She removes her glasses. “I would like to apologize for my behavior earlier today. I have…come to care about you a great deal over the years, and in my efforts to prevent you from being hurt again, I hurt you myself. That is unacceptable, and I apologize.”

She pauses, then hesitantly opens her arms. For a second, all Jillian can do is stare at her, not understanding. Then she realizes, and throws her arms around Rebecca, fully recognizing how rare of a moment this is.

“Oof. My sternum, Jillian.”

Jillian squeezes tighter. “I love you so much. You know that, right?”

Connie nudges her back. “You’re crushing my wife, kid.”

Jillian releases her and steps back with a smirk. “Love you too, Connie.”

Rebecca straightens her bolo tie with a cough. “Now. Let’s make some improvements, shall we?”

Jillian grins. “Hell yeah.”

 

After the day has faded away, and Dr. Gorin and Connie bid their farewells for the night, Erin and Jillian take off as well. Erin doesn’t even ask, but they both know they’re going back to Erin’s place.

They’ve barely made it inside before Erin is pushing Jillian up against the inside of the door and kissing her, long and languid.

“I love you,” she murmurs when she pulls back, and revels in the words and her newfound ability to say them.

“I love _you,_ ” Jillian murmurs back.

Erin takes her by the hand and leads her to her bedroom. She hesitates before turning on the string lights, wondering if Jillian will judge her for still sleeping with them on. Jillian just smiles.

They crawl into Erin’s bed together. She feels like she should feel shy, awkward, but she doesn’t. It must be a testament to how well they fit together even after all these years apart.

Jillian kisses her, unbuttons the top button of Erin’s shirt.

Erin pulls back and grabs Jillian’s hand to stop her. “No.”

“No?” Jillian pulls back immediately, looking panic-stricken. “Sorry, I must’ve…I must’ve misread…”

“No, no,” Erin says quickly. “I mean…I want tonight to be about you, okay?”

Jillian considers that, frowns. “Oh.”

“Is that okay?”

“Yes, I just…”

“What?”

“I’m just…not used to that.”

“But it’s okay?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Definitely okay. More than okay.”

“Okay,” Erin says with a smile, then leans back in.

“Hold on,” Jillian says some time later, after Erin’s already worked a few layers of her clothing off.

Erin pauses. “What’s wrong?”

“When you say you want tonight to be about me, does that mean you don’t want…does that mean I don’t get to touch you?”

“Oh,” Erin says, feeling her face heat up a little. “I mean, if you _want_ to…”

“I do.”

“Oh. Well, yes, then. You can. I just want to make sure you’re taken care of first.”

Holtz laughs. “So courteous. Am I allowed to make you a little more naked, or does that have to wait until after I’ve been ‘taken care of?’”

Erin rolls her eyes. “Yes, Jillian, you can take off more of my clothes.”

“Schweeeet.”

“Isn’t that on our banned words list?”

“Is it?” Jillian says innocently. “I can’t remember it. It’s been so long, you know.”

“Gonna milk that, huh?”

“Mmm.” Jillian kisses her, and when she pulls back she’s smiling. “I’ve missed this.”

“Sex? If I understand it correctly, you’ve been having plenty of that since left.”

Jillian snorts and drops her head back onto the pillow as she laughs. “No, Er-in,” she says, breaking up the syllables with jabs to Erin’s chest. “I’ve missed _this_. _You_.”

Erin’s smile softens. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“I can’t wait to see how you stack up to my mountain of conquests, though. You’re right, I have been having a _lot_ of sex in your absence.”

Erin makes a face. “Let’s not talk about it.”

“What, you don’t want to see all the tricks I picked up?”

“Shut up, Jillian,” Erin says.

She does, once Erin actually gets to work.

(Mostly).

Later, much later, after Erin has found out exactly how many new skills Jillian has picked up over the years, they lay side by side in the bed, Erin on her stomach and Jillian on her side.

The second Jillian’s fingertips touch her bare back, Erin feels her breath catch. She feels the familiar patterns being traced and knows even before she asks.

“What are you drawing?”

“Math,” Jillian says, and she can hear the smile in her voice.

She shifts so she can see her better. The patterns don’t stop.

“The same math?”

“Yep.”

Erin takes a deep breath, and then she asks the question that has always plagued her. “What math?”

The tip of Jillian’s finger pauses in the middle of her back. “You finally asked.”

“I did. Are you going to tell me?”

“I’m trying to figure out the exact chances of us being alive on this planet at the same time and knowing each other.”

Erin freezes. Her throat feels tight all of a sudden.

“It’s hard, though,” Jillian continues. “Without an exact number as to how old the universe is.”

Erin rolls to face her and Jillian’s hand trails off of her. Tears prick at her eyes.

Jillian’s smile turns to a frown. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

Erin shakes her head quickly. “No. No, you didn’t.”

She doesn’t know what else to say, so she pulls Jillian in for a long kiss instead.

“I love you.”

Jillian laughs against her lips. “If I knew I’d get that reaction, I would’ve told you what I was doing the first time I did it.”

Erin pulls back and traces the side of Jillian’s face, her jaw. “I don’t deserve you.”

Now it’s Jillian’s turn to roll her eyes. “We’ve been through this.”

“I know. But Dr. Gorin and Connie had a lot of good points earlier. I hurt you. I hurt you more than I can even comprehend. I don’t even know how you can forgive me for that. _If_ you should forgive me.”

“I know what I’m doing, Erin. This isn’t—forgiving you isn’t about forgetting what you did or pretending like it wasn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, like it didn’t mess me up for years. It’s not giving you a free pass for leaving just because you came back. Forgiving you means giving you the chance to try again. It’s giving _both_ of us the chance to make this work this time. You coming back was just the first step in what’s going to be a _lot_ of communication and work for both of us. We’re never going to get back to what things were like before, but I think that’s a good thing. Our history is part of us, Erin. All of it. The good and the bad. I’m not about to forget it, but that doesn’t mean I can’t move on and focus on the future.”

Erin exhales. “You didn’t have to do that, though. You didn’t owe me anything. You could’ve turned your back like I turned mine, shot me down, told me that I lost my chance a long time ago…and I would’ve deserved that.”

Jillian nods once.

“I’m not taking this second chance lightly, Jillian. I meant what I said to Dr. Gorin earlier. I’m never going to stop trying to make things right, to earn your trust again and make this relationship work, no matter what it takes. I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you, if you’ll let me, and—” She breaks off as she realizes the implications of what she just said.

Jillian raises an eyebrow at her.

Erin tries to calm her racing heart. She looks up, looks at Jillian, holds that intense gaze of hers, and realizes that she meant exactly what she said.

“Yeah,” she says to assure herself. “Yeah. I _will_ spend the rest of my life with you, trying to make things right, if you’ll let me.”

She knows it’s crazy, probably, to say that a few hours into a relationship, but she also supposes it’s a lot less crazy if you consider the fact that the past twenty-eight years of her life have been leading her to this moment.

Also, she doesn’t give a crap about crazy anymore.

“Erin, did you…”

“Yes.”

Jillian frowns as she puzzles over that, then her expression transforms into one of amazement. “Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

“Huh. Well that’s…wow. Little soon, there, Gilbert, huh?”

Erin laughs a little nervously. “I think I’ve known for a very long time. Haven’t you?”

Jillian opens her mouth to answer but then abruptly something else entirely takes over her face, something that looks a lot like realization. Her mouth falls open, and she looks slowly at Erin.

“It was for you,” she says in amazement, an incredulous smile spreading across her face.

“What? What was for me?”

Jillian’s smile is a full-on grin now. “Never mind. You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Jillian, you can’t say something like that and not follow up.”

“And you can’t half-ass propose to me and then try to distract me so I forget.”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“Suuure.”

“Let’s just go to sleep.”

Jillian chuckles and nuzzles closer. “Night, Erin.”

Erin sighs contentedly. “Goodnight, Jillian.”

And, with the strands of lights glowing steadily above her and the love of her life clinging to her side, Erin happily drifts off. The last thing she hears before she falls asleep is a soft, faint _click_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you close out of this fic just yet...while this may be the "official" end, there's still an epilogue to close out this story. And I have a feeling that you'll like it :)


	18. we were on one endless road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Lots of audio links in this chapter, if that's your jam :)

x.

As it turns out, forever is simpler than it sounds.

Forever starts that day on the roof of the firehouse, where it envelopes them, morphs, stretches.

Within a few days, Jillian has dug out the ring from where she’s been storing it, and as soon as she sees it, she knows her realization was right. It was never for Amber.

She waits.

She waits until Erin rustles up the courage to ask for real.

It takes a few months, until they’re well into December. They go to Boston for a week mid-month to visit Rebecca and Connie, because Jillian knows it’s too soon to invite themselves to actually spend Christmas with them. Maybe next year. For now, Rebecca is still warming up to Erin, and the week is taxing in itself.

By the time they leave, though, Rebecca has instructed Erin to call her Rebecca, and that’s something. There’s a shift between them about halfway through the week, but Jillian can’t put her finger on what’s changed.

After Boston, they go to Battle Creek to see Mark and Brenda. Luke also comes from his new job in California to spend Christmas with them, and brings his girlfriend, Cara.

It’s Erin’s first time seeing Mark and Luke since she left, and Jillian is nervous about it.

As it turns out, she worried for nothing. While Mark is hesitant for the first little bit, he quickly sees what Rebecca and Connie are starting to see, that she’s meant to be with Erin, that her being back is the best thing that could happened.

Erin can’t stop talking about how incredible it is to see Luke all grown up when he was still in elementary school the last time she saw him. She asks him questions about his studies, about his new job. She talks to Cara and gets to know her.

She talks to Mark a lot, clearly trying to win back his trust, but she doesn’t have to try hard. Mark always seemed to like her.

Christmas comes and goes, and they pack up to head back to New York. The night before they’re set to leave Battle Creek, Erin casually suggests that they go for a drive.

Jillian knows right away what’s about to happen, but she plays along. She has a good guess as to where Erin’s taking her.

Then, they pass the library, and Jillian has to reconsider.

“We’re not checking out any books?” Jillian says.

Erin glances at her with a smile, then looks back at the road. “Not tonight.”

Puzzled, Jillian leans back in her seat and watches out the window for hints as to where they’re going. A list of alternates flits through her mind. Their Spot at their old elementary school? Gun Lake where they went on the anniversary of her mom’s death? The grounds of their old camp?

The sound of the turn signal snaps Jillian from her thoughts. She takes in their surroundings and realizes that she may have gotten ahead of herself about Erin’s plans today.

“What are we doing here?” she asks.

“I know you don’t visit much, but I wanted to. Is that okay?”

Jillian shrugs, watching out the window at the passing headstones. “Sure.” She swallows. “Turn left at that building.”

They park and cross the grounds towards the oak tree that overshadows the section they’re looking for. Once they get in the approximate area, they slow down, brushing snow off plaques to expose the names underneath. Jillian knows where it is, of course, even though she’s only been here twice in her life, but the snow blankets all the landmarks she used last time to find it.

She still finds it, though.

“Erin,” she calls quietly. The cemetery is mostly empty. In the far distance there’s a family gathered around a gravestone, but that’s all she can see. It’s just them, and the snow, and the moon, and the rows and rows of markers.

She crouches in front of the plaque and pushes the rest of the snow off with her gloved hand, then stands. Erin joins her there.

“There are a few things I want to say,” Erin says softly. “May I?”

Jillian nods. Erin takes her hand.

“Hi, Mrs. Holtzmann,” Erin begins.

“Kathy,” Jillian interjects.

Erin nods. “Kathy. My name is Erin Gilbert. We never met, but I wish we had. You sounded like the most incredible mother ever, and I’m glad Jillian was able to have you for the time that she did, even if you should’ve been here much, much longer.” She exhales, her breath puffing out in the air. “We don’t know a lot about how the afterlife works yet, but I have faith that you can hear me right now, somehow, and that’s why I came to ask you something. I’ve already asked Mark, and I already asked Rebecca and Connie, who you never met either. I already asked Abby, too, who I think you would’ve loved.

“They’ve all been taking good care of your daughter for a long time, now. And all of them have given me permission to be the one to look after her for the rest of her life. And that’s what I’ve come to ask you. I love your daughter, Kathy. I love her with my whole heart, and I’m never going to stop loving her. I will care for her, protect her, keep her safe and happy and loved for the rest of her time on this earth and beyond if you’ll let me.”

Jillian feels like she’s going to cry.

A breeze picks up, sending a flurry of snow spiraling down around them from the oak tree, and in that moment a nearby streetlight, which had been flickering dimly, lights up in full.

Jillian’s mouth falls open. “Erin…”

“I saw it,” Erin whispers.

Jillian turns to her, her heart thudding. Erin squeezes her hand through their gloves, and then she’s down on one knee in the snow and moves to grip both her hands instead.

“Erin…”

“Jillian,” Erin says. “I’m not good at speeches. That’s your department. And I don’t have a ring for you, because Rebecca got talking about safety hazards and talked me out of it. I don’t have anything to give you, really, but the love I have for you and a promise of forever. So, Jillian Holtzmann, will you marry me?”

“Hold that thought,” Jillian says, releasing one of Erin’s hands and pulling off her glove with her teeth so she can reach into her coat pocket.

“Jillian? Can it wait?”

Jillian just smirks around the glove hanging out her mouth and pulls out the box.

“Oh,” Erin gets out. “Oh, I see.”

“ _I_ came prepared, even if you didn’t,” Jillian jokes, and hands Erin the box so she can put her glove back on.

Erin pries open the small box and gasps softly. “This is for me?”

Jillian nods.

“Jillian…it’s beautiful. When did you—”

“Almost two years ago.”

Erin looks up. “What?” She frowns, clearly doing the math on that. “But that was—”

“When I picked it, I knew it was the right ring. What I had wrong was the woman.”

Erin holds the box away from her body. “Wait, you gave this to—”

“No,” Jillian says. “I realized right away that it wasn’t the right one. She never saw it. But I kept it, thinking that maybe one day I’d know why I felt the pull to get it in the first place. And I did. It was always for you, Erin. I just didn’t know it.”

Erin wipes at her eyes, and Jillian realizes that she’s also crying and rubs at her own eyes as well.

“I’m going to get up,” Erin says, then stands, still gripping the box.

“So…” Jillian says.

“I asked you first,” Erin reminds her. “You have to answer first.”

Jillian gestures. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Please just answer? Humour me?”

Jillian pulls her in by her waist. “Yes, Erin. Yes, I’ll marry you. Of course I will.”

“Oh. Well, that’s unfortunate, because I don’t want to marry you.”

Jillian shoves her.

“Hey,” Erin cries. “You’re going to make me drop the ring.”

“Better put it on before you lose it, then,” Jillian says. “Want some help?”

She takes the box from Erin and removes her glove again so she can pluck out the ring. By the time she looks up, Erin has removed her left mitten as well. Jillian’s hands shake a little as she slides it into place.

It looks perfect there, of course. It fits like it was made for her, despite the fact that Jillian didn’t bother to get it sized.

“I almost don’t want to cover it up,” Erin says sadly.

“I can keep your hand warm,” Jillian says with a smirk, taking it in her own.

Erin rolls her eyes, but smiles.

“Did you really talk to Rebecca and Connie?” Jillian asks casually.

Erin nods bashfully, shrugs. “They’re your family. They’re important to you, and I know that they still don’t trust me. I want to prove to them that I’m not going anywhere, that I really am going to be here for you.”

“And they gave you the go-ahead?”

Erin laughs lightly. “More or less. They’re not relinquishing care of you just yet, but they weren’t opposed to me proposing. Connie seemed happy. Rebecca was harder to read.”

“But she told you to call her Rebecca,” Jillian reminds her. “That counts for a lot more than you know. I knew her for _years_ before she let me, and she still made me call her Dr. Gorin in the lab.”

Erin smiles. “So maybe she’s more on-board than she seemed.”

“She’s not the easiest to read,” Jillian allows. “You’ll get better at it.”

“Mark was a lot easier,” Erin says. “He was thrilled.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Want to go find out for yourself and tell him the news that you’re engaged?”

Jillian marvels at the word, at the way it already feels so different than it did with Amber. She knows she probably shouldn’t compare them, but it’s hard not to.

“Let’s do it,” she agrees.

Erin smiles, then crouches to brush the new skiff of snow off the plaque below them. “Thank you, Kathy,” she says quietly. “It means a lot to me, and I think it means a lot to your daughter, too.”

She stands and laces her arm through Jillian’s, taking hold of her bicep and leaning her head against her shoulder. Jillian turns her head to kiss Erin’s forehead, then looks back down at the plaque.

“Thanks, Mom,” she whispers, swallowing the lump in her throat. “And thank you, Erin. For bringing me here. For doing this. You’re right; it means…more than you know.”

Erin squeezes her arm. They stand there for a few moments longer, and then they start walking.

Jillian clears her throat loudly, trying to clear her emotions with it. “I can’t believe we just got engaged in a cemetery.”

“We _are_ Ghostbusters.”

“That we are,” she says with a soft chuckle.

 

Jillian moves into Erin’s apartment on January 1st without much prior discussion or formality. Once they get back to New York after Christmas and tell the others about their engagement, it takes less than 24 hours for Jillian to gather her belongings from Abby’s apartment and move them to Erin’s.

They shuffle the furniture around to shake things up, and hang some of Jillian’s gathered artwork on the walls. It brings colour to the otherwise grey apartment.

“I have…something else to show you,” Erin says once they’re done.

Jillian cocks her head.

“Wait here,” Erin says, and goes to the bedroom closet. She returns with the file folder.

Jillian’s eyes light up in instant recognition. “You still have that?”

Erin hands her the folder, watches her open it up to reveal the comic within. “Of course. Don’t you?”

Jillian pales. “I…no.”

Erin’s heart falls. “You don’t?”

Jillian bites her lip and scratches her neck. “I burnt it. And my copy of the book.”

Erin just stares.

“It was very symbolic,” Jillian says quickly. “But I’ve regretted it ever since.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Erin says, equally as quick. “I shouldn’t have expected you to--”

“I can recite the whole thing by memory,” Jillian says. “I’ve never forgotten it, even when I was desperate to.”

“Oh. That’s…”

“I even tried to draw it again, once.” Jillian looks down at the comic and runs her thumb along the page. “I got a few panels in, but then it was too hard and I had to stop because it was hurting too much to relive it.”

Erin swallows. “Jillian…”

“So I’m really, really glad that you kept yours. And I’m really, really glad that we’re standing here together with it.”

Erin nods happily. “I am too.”

Jillian holds up the folder. “Mind if I take this for a mini-project?”

“Of course.”

Jillian grins.

She’s gone for a few hours, and then she comes back with something rectangular wrapped in brown paper. She hands it to Erin. Erin looks up at her questioningly as she unwraps it, then gasps quietly when she sees what it is.

The last panel of the comic, with Reptilian Jillian and Ghost Girl overlooking the city after they’ve saved it, enlarged and framed. The only change is that she’s traced over the spot where Erin’s tears blurred the ink, so now _forever_ is as clear as it was the day Jillian drew it.

Erin chokes down the lump in her throat. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

They take down Erin’s drab painting over the bed and hang the new frame in its place. When they’re done, Erin stands at the foot of the bed and appraises it with a warm feeling in her chest.

Jillian comes up beside her and kisses her cheek. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Can we get an herb garden?”

Erin looks back at her in surprise and confusion. “Neither of us cook.”

Jillian nods. “I know. Can we get one, though?”

Erin smiles. She doesn’t understand the rationale, but it seems important to Jillian, and that’s all that matters. “Of course we can get an herb garden.”

Jillian grins a 1000-watt smile. “Perfect.”

 

“When do you want to get married?” Erin asks one night as they’re curled in bed together.

“Mmm.” Jillian nuzzles her face into the crook of Erin’s neck. “Good question. I did some digging and found out that August 10th in 2019 is a Saturday.”

She feels Erin still. “That’s…very specific. Why August 10th?”

“It’s the day we met,” Jillian says.

“Oh,” Erin breathes. “That’s…that’s perfect, Jillian.” There’s a pause. “Why not this August, though?”

“Couple reasons. First, that’s not much time to plan a wedding. Second, that year will mark thirty years since we met.”

Erin shifts around so she’s looking at Jillian. “Wow. You’re right.”

“So…what do you think? That’s just…one option. It could be whenever, really.”

“I…” Erin frowns.

“You don’t like it.”

“No, I love the idea, it’s just…that’s so far away. I would marry you tomorrow if I could. I don’t know that I want to wait that long.”

Jillian can’t help the smile that tugs on her lips. “Erin, my love, we’ve waited twenty-eight-and-a-half years. Don’t you think we can wait another year-and-a-half?”

“I…yes. You’re right. Of course we can. I just…really want to get married. I want to show you that my heart is yours forever. That I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s Jillian’s turn to freeze, now. “Erin…is that really why you want to get married? To prove something to me? So you can be held legally accountable for sticking around?”

“No!” Erin says quickly. “I want to get married because I _love_ you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I just…I also want you to know that I’m serious about this.”

“Erin, I don’t give a shit about the legality of a marriage. You know that, right? All I need is you here, proving to me daily that you aren’t going anywhere. It shouldn’t matter if we get married tomorrow or in ten _years_. Or never. Nothing should change.”

“I know. Yes. You’re absolutely right.” Erin winces. “I just thought…maybe you’d want it to be official as soon as possible. I’m going to be here, serious about this, regardless. I love you, Jillian. Paper or no paper. Rings or no rings.”

“I know. I never doubted that. And I _am_ excited for it to be official, for us to declare our love and commitment to each other in front of everyone. But I’m in no rush for that to happen, alright?”

Erin rolls onto her back and fiddles with her engagement ring. “Okay.”

“You still don’t sound convinced. Do you want to get married sooner? We could have a small wedding, no fuss, and pull it off in a few months if you’re really that eager.”

Erin won’t meet her eyes. “It’s just…there are some other reasons, too, why—no, never mind.”

Jillian lays a hand on her arm. “Erin? Look at me. What other reasons?”

“Marital tax deductions,” Erin mumbles. “Thepossibilityofstartingafamilysooner. Joint income tax filing.”

“Sorry, tax benefits and _what_ was in the middle, there?”

Erin finally looks at her, ashamed and a little fearful. “I know you heard me,” she says quietly.

“I…” Jillian pushes herself upright to a seated position and pulls her knees into her chest. “Erin, we’ve never talked about…about that.”

Erin sits up as well and stares at her hands. “I know. We’ve also only been dating for four months.”

“We’re engaged,” Jillian reminds her.

“Right. Yes.”

“Did you _forget?_ ”

“You’re making me anxious, okay?”

Jillian laughs lightly and reaches out to take Erin’s hand to stop her from fidgeting. “Hey,” she says gently, “it’s just me, Erin. Nothing to worry about.”

“It’s just you,” Erin repeats with a slight smile.

Jillian sweeps a strand of hair behind Erin’s ear and squeezes her hand. “Let’s talk about this, okay?”

Erin bites her lip and nods.

“Have you been thinking about…about kids?” Jillian asks.

Erin nods again.

“What have you—what are your…thoughts?”

Erin hesitates. “I used to think I didn’t want kids, but that was before I was with you. I only want kids if you’re the one by my side raising them with me.”

Jillian raises an eyebrow. “You’ve met me, right?” she jokes.

Erin laughs. “I have. And you’re exactly the type of person I’d want my children to grow up to be like.”

Jillian doesn’t know exactly how to respond to that. She clears her throat loudly. “Huh. That’s…huh.”

Erin’s face falls. “You sound like…do you not want kids?”

“No, I…I just haven’t thought about it, y’know?” Jillian lies. Of course she’s thought about it. She’s thought about having a family with Erin for decades of her life. But it was always just a far-off fantasy, vague, not _real_. She’s never considered whether or not she _actually_ wants kids and all the responsibility that comes along with them. She’s only just now started to learn how to take care of _herself_ , and even that she can barely manage. How could she be responsible for young, dependant lives? What if she fucked everything up like she fucked up her own life? What if she up and died one day because of a careless lab error? She knows what it’s like to lose a mother.

There are too many variables. Too much room for error. Too much pressure. Too much stress. It’s too risky.

And yet, she looks at Erin, her fiancée, one day her wife, and she feels a sense of calm settle inside her, and when she closes her eyes she sees the two of them cradling a baby, a family, and the answer comes to her as certain as her love for Erin herself.

“Yes,” she says. “Yes, I want to start a family with you.”

Erin looks up sharply. “Really? Or are you just saying that because I want to?”

Jillian laughs. “Don’t flatter yourself. There are some things I’d never do _just_ because I love you. No, I really, truly do.”

“Wow…that’s…wow.”

“Do you want…to be the one who—I mean, do you want to…uh…”

Erin makes a face. “I have no interest in carrying a child, if that’s what you…mean.”

“…Oh.”

“Do…you?”

Jillian also makes a face. “Do I really seem like the pregnancy type?”

“Well, no, but…I thought I’d ask anyway.”

Jillian laughs.

“So…” Erin says. “I guess, then…we’d need to look at…other ways?”

“Adoption?”

“We could adopt,” Erin says thoughtfully.

Jillian clears her throat. “If we do…”

“Yes?”

“Could we…do you think we could adopt an older kid? So many kids get left behind in the system because they aren’t young and cute. Or they have special needs.”

Erin considers that, then nods eagerly. “I think that’s a great idea. I’ve never been overly fond of young children anyway. I think giving a kid a loving home should be our priority, no matter their age.”

Jillian smiles at that, lifts Erin’s hand to kiss her knuckles.

“What?” Erin says.

“I’m just thinking about how good of a mom you’re going to be.”

Erin blushes. “So are you.”

There’s a pause. “So what happens next? Isn’t adoption like, a crazy long process?”

“Yeah,” Erin says softly. “That’s why I thought maybe…we should get married sooner rather than later so we can start the process. It’s not a requirement for it, and they’re not legally allowed to discriminate against us if we’re not…but it might look better? I always thought…you know, marriage before children. Even if it doesn’t really apply in this situation because the children will already exist, and that’s old-fashioned anyway and marital status should have no effect on anyone’s ability to raise a child.” She bites her lip. “I’m rambling. I’m sorry. It’s stupid.”

  
“It’s not,” Jillian says. “Let’s get married first, then. Set a date for as soon as possible.”

“But I love the date you chose for the symbolic and sentimental resonance…”

Jillian thinks for a few moments. “I might have a compromise,” she says finally.

 

“ _Seriously?”_ Abby nearly shouts.

The two of them shush her simultaneously.

“You can’t tell anyone,” Erin says. “Seriously. Nobody. You’re the only person who will know besides us.”

“I don’t understand,” Abby says. “What’s the point of a courthouse ceremony and then a wedding over a year later?”

They exchange a glance.

“We want it to be official as soon as possible for...tax benefits,” Jillian says, then coughs. “But we still want a wedding.”

“Alright, weirdos. I’ll do it. But if I get reamed out later for keeping it from everyone, I’m putting all the blame on you.”

A few days later, the three of them manage to sneak out of work for a ‘meeting with the mayor.’ They convince Patty that the firehouse will fall apart if she doesn’t stay behind (which is completely true).

They go to the City Clerk’s office and all sign the piece of paper they picked up the other day, and then as of January 21st, 2018, at 1:42pm, Erin has a wife.

Jillian doesn’t stop smiling all day. When they get back to the firehouse, Patty expresses concern for her safety a number of times.

Erin can’t help herself from locking herself in the lab with Jillian and kissing her until their lips are numb.

Her _wife_.

 

The next thing they do is start looking for a bigger apartment. They do it under the guise of wanting room for an office for Erin and a workspace for Jillian.

Jillian wonders aloud one night why they’re keeping the adoption stuff from the others, from Mark, from Rebecca and Connie. Erin reminds her that it’s a long, arduous process that could take years.

“Why get everyone’s hopes up until we’re further along in the process?” she says. “It’s like how you don’t announce a pregnancy until you’re a third of the way through.”

Jillian understands. They keep it between them.

They do, however, mail out save-the-dates for August 10th, 2019.

They also decide to have the wedding in Michigan. They throw a few locations back and forth, but ultimately land on one that they agree is the best option. They make a few calls, have to do some begging, but they make it happen.

They invite everyone important. Abby, Patty, and Kevin. Mark and Brenda. Luke and Cara. Rebecca and Connie. All the Dykes, who Jillian has got to know over the years almost as well as Rebecca and Connie. She even phones up Max with Erin and asks if she would consider officiating for them. Max excitedly agrees, says she’d be honoured.

Then they have to decide on their wedding party.

“I call Abby,” Jillian shouts.

“Hey, I’ve known her for longer,” Erin says.

“Well, I know her better,” Jillian counters. “You know, because of all those years we had alone together when you were gone.”

“Oh, I see how it is. Playing the leaving card to get your way, huh?”

“C’mon, I _never_ do it. Let me have this.”

“You do it all the time! The other day, you got out of doing the _dishes_ because I ‘owe you for leaving.’”

“It’s true. Lifetime indebtment, remember?”

Erin sighs. “I know. Fine, you can have Abby.”

“Abby and Luke on my side, and then you get Patty and Kevin on yours?”

“That seems fair.”

(Everyone agrees that it seems fair, and they all excitedly accept).

 

They select an adoption agency and start doing more research on the process. Well, Erin does more research on the process. She loves doing research. Jillian, on the other hand, waits for the abridged version, which Erin is happy to provide her.

Erin also takes on most of the work for apartment-hunting. She eventually finds one out in New Rochelle, a two-bedroom in a good neighbourhood. They go view it and both agree that it’s perfect.

They find it a little difficult to explain to the others why they’re moving out of the city. They dodge the question, especially considering the apartment doesn’t have the workspace that they were originally using as their excuse for moving. Abby seems like she might suspect that something’s up, but she doesn’t push.

They sign their lease and move in at the beginning of April. They furnish the second bedroom as a combination guest bedroom and office to avoid suspicion.

Then they submit their adoption application.

 

Jillian is working upstairs one day when Kevin shouts from downstairs.

“Holtzmann? You have a phone call!”

She exchanges a glance with Erin, who just shrugs, then she slides down the pole.

“Who is it?” she asks as she crosses the room.

“Arbor?” Kevin replies, holding the phone out to her.

Jillian frowns. “Like…Ann Arbor? Who would be calling me from Ann Arbor?”

“Not sure, boss.”

“Also, Kev, you gotta put people on hold if you’re gonna do this. Or at least cover the phone while you call us down here.”

“But then I won’t be able to hear them,” Kevin says.

“Of course, buddy. You’re absolutely right.” Jillian sighs and takes the phone. “Go for Holtzmann.”

“You’re a tough girl to track down these days, Jillian.”

Jillian recognizes the voice instantly. “…Amber?”

There’s a laugh. Jillian forgot how warm of a laugh she has.

“That’s Dr. Coleman to you, hon.”

Jillian settles back on the edge of Kevin’s desk and grins. “Look at you. Congratulations, Dr. Coleman.” She clears her throat. “How’d you track me down at this number?”

Amber snorts. “You left me no other choice. Your cell number is out of service—”

“My phone was a victim of a small lab fire.”

“—and the email I sent bounced back—”

“Email address got rescinded along with my other privileges when I got kicked out of the Institute.”

“—so I had no other option but to contact you at work.”

“How’d you know I work here?”

Amber snorts again. “Your face and name has been all over the news in connection with the Ghostbusters since September. I’m getting sick of it, actually.”

Jillian laughs. “Nobody’s making you watch the news. I know I don’t.”

There’s a pause. “Did you really save the city?”

Jillian scoffs. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s all bull,” Amber teases.

“Don’t tell me you believe that gas leak hogwash like the common folk do, Dr. Coleman. I thought you were better than that.”

Amber chuckles. “Listen, I’m back in Boston these days but I’m in your neck of the woods for the next week. You interested in grabbing a coffee and catchin’ up?”

Jillian hesitates. “Uh…”

“Not like that. I’ve just been thinkin’ about you a lot lately and I think it would be good if we both got some closure on the mess that was our relationship.”

Now it’s Jillian’s turn to snort. “Well, when you put it that way…when’s a good time for you?”

 

Jillian sits down across from Erin. “So.”

Erin looks up.

“In the interest of full disclosure, communication, and honesty…”

Erin eyes her warily.

“I’m meeting Amber for coffee this afternoon.” There’s a pause. “Amber the ex-fiancée.”

Erin sits up straighter. “Oh. Okay?”

“Are you okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because...we used to be engaged? And you have a biiit of a jealous streak, m’dear.”

Erin blushes. “I do not.”

“Right. Sure.”

“I don’t! I’m fine. I’m not jealous.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“ _Should_ I be jealous, Jillian? Do I have a _reason_ to be concerned?”

“No!” Jillian says quickly. “Of course not.”

“You don’t sound sure about that.”

“Well...I don’t know. You don’t have to be concerned about _me_ , but I don’t know where her head is at…”

“Well, it shouldn’t matter where her head is at. We’re _married_.”

Jillian winces. “Right. I know.”

“Did she initiate this meeting or did you?”

“She did. She said she wants to get closure and discuss our ‘mess of a relationship.’”

“...I think it’s pretty clear where her head is at.”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“But what?”

“What if she sees me and changes her mind because she realizes she’s still in love with me?”

Erin can’t help but laugh. “You’re very full of yourself, aren’t you?”

Jillian pouts. “I mean, I know I did a number on her…”

“What _did_ you do to her?” Erin says, unable to keep from asking anymore. “How much of a mess was it, anyway?”

Jillian winces again. “Well, I broke off our engagement for another woman who I wasn’t even _with_. That’s...something.”

Erin stills. “Wait, did you...break things off...because…”

“Of you, yes,” Jillian says, so matter of fact that Erin’s heart stops for a second.

“Oh,” Erin says quietly. She considers that for a few moments. “Okay, now I’m a little concerned.”

“What? Why now?”

Erin laughs nervously. “Maybe you should take backup. She must be pretty angry if she wants to meet up now.”

Jillian frowns. “She never seemed that angry. Maybe a little. She mostly just seemed sad. She sounded okay on the phone. I think I’ll be fine?”

“Only one way to find out, I guess,” Erin says with a sigh. “You’re meeting her this afternoon, you said?”

 

Jillian pulls open the door to the coffee shop and steps inside, then immediately spots Amber in the corner. She stands when she sees her, a smile overtaking her face. Jillian can’t help but smile as well as she crosses the shop to meet her.

Amber pulls her in for a hug when she gets there, then steps back and surveys her. “You’re lookin’ good, hon. Healthy.”

“Bustin’ ghosts _is_ quite the workout,” Jillian says with a grin. “You look good, too, Dr. Coleman. Nice hair.” She’s changed it again, grown it out, let the curls run wild.

Amber smirks and gives her a little shove. “You wanna get something to drink?”

Jillian orders her usual, and throws in an iced coffee for Amber without being prompted. She wonders fleetingly whether it was the right thing to do or if it’ll give Amber the wrong idea, but she’s already handed the guy her credit card.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Amber says.

Jillian shrugs. “You still drink them, right?”

Amber laughs. “As if I’d ever stop.”

Jillian smiles.

After they get their drinks, they go sit in a pair of armchairs by the windows.

Jillian blows on her coffee. “So…”

Amber takes a pull from her drink and then rests it on her knee, drumming her fingers against the side. It’s a nervous habit of hers. “You really do look good, Jillian. You seem happy. You’ve been taking care of yourself?”

“For the most part,” Jillian says.

Amber gives a half-smile and sips from her drink again. “Good. I’m glad. Abby doin’ okay?”

“Never been better. We almost lost her in the apocalypse fiasco, but she made it out alive and well and she’s doing just fine.”

“Glad to hear it. Rebecca and Connie?”

Jillian sighs. “Things have been a little rocky. They were super pissed at me for...several things. We’re working on it, though. They’re doing fine themselves, though. Connie’s retired, now. Rebecca still spends most of her time working.”

Amber chuckles. “She’ll work herself to death, that one.”

Jillian smiles. “She’ll still be working _after_ death, too.”

Amber snorts. “How are Mark and Luke?”

“Good. They’re doing good. Mark and Brenda are still going strong. Luke lives in California with his girlfriend. He just got this awesome-sounding job that I don’t _fully_ understand, but I know he’s really happy.”

“Good for him!” There’s a pause. “That only leaves you. I almost hate to ask, but...did you find your girl?”

Jillian takes a moment to slurp some coffee from her cup. She wasn’t sure if Amber would actually ask. “Erin Gilbert,” she says. “That was her. The girl. She came back and is a member of our team.”

Amber frowns. “The skinny white girl with the bangs?”

“That’s the one.”

“So, she...came back. And?”

Jillian coughs. “And we’re engaged. Wait, no, sorry. Married. Sort of. It’s complicated.”

Amber stares. “Are you engaged or are you married? What’s so complicated? It’s one or the other.”

“Married. Technically. But as far as anyone knows, we’re only engaged.”

Amber stares more. “I don’t understand.”

Jillian is starting to sweat a little. “Forget it. We’re engaged.”

“Then why the hell’d you say you were married?”

“Because we are. Technically.”

“Jillian.”

“I don’t think...you want to know…”

“I asked. Course I want to know.”

“Are you sure? Because I know it wasn’t that long ago that we...you know...and this is...well, it’s…”

“Jillian, spit it out.”

“The wedding isn’t until next summer but we want to start a family and we’re going to adopt but that takes a long time so we decided to start the process now but that meant getting married so our application looks stronger so we went and got legally married but nobody except Abby knows because we still want to have a wedding and nobody knows we’re starting the adoption process not even Abby so we can’t tell people that we got married already because they’d want to know why and—”

“Take a breath, girl.”

Jillian halts and inhales sharply. “So that’s why,” she finishes lamely. “I didn’t think you’d want to know.”

Amber shrugs. “Listen, Jillian, I’m happy for you, alright? Part of why I wanted to meet up is to see if things worked out for you. I’m glad they did. It makes me feel better about the end of our relationship.”

“What do you mean?”

“I felt a lot of guilt after it ended. It’s good to know it was the right thing.”

“I don’t understand. _You_ felt guilty? I was the one who was selfish and destroyed our relationship,” Jillian says. “You didn’t do anything.”

Amber takes a long drink from her cup and then swirls the ice around. “I let you go without much of a fight. You can be a little—how do I put this— _stupid_ when it comes to your own well-being. You tend to self-destruct a lot. And your whole rationale for breaking things off was so you could _maybe_ get together with this girl _if_ she ever came back and was willing.”

“I broke things off to protect you,” Jillian says, “because I knew you deserved better than someone who would desert you if they had a chance with someone else.”

“I know. And I get that. But you didn’t ask me how I felt. You didn’t tell me what was going on until it was too late. We could’ve talked about it.”

“It was the best option,” Jillian says. “You agreed.”

“For _me_ ,” Amber says. “You didn’t consider yourself at all beyond the best-case scenario. What if you _had_ been waiting out the rest of your life alone because she never came back?”

Jillian crosses her arms. “Guess I had faith.”

“In what?”

“In the universe.” Jillian pauses. “In Erin.”

“I didn’t think you were a girl who relied on faith alone to lead her. Thought you were a science girl.”

“Faith, intuition...science can only lead us so far.”

“Interesting.”

Jillian fidgets with the sleeve on her coffee cup. “Do you regret letting me break things off?”

“In the beginning? Yes. I wondered if it was the right thing to do. And until now, I worried about you, worried that you were alone and doing...who knows what. It’s a huge relief to know that things worked out for you.”

“What about _you,_ though?”

“What about me?”

Jillian shifts in her seat. “How are _you?_ Do you regret letting me go?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, I was upset at first. Really upset.”

“I would hope so,” Jillian jokes.

Amber rolls her eyes.

“Sorry,” Jillian says quickly. “That was in poor taste. I know I hurt you.”

Amber sighs. “It wasn’t all your fault.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure I’m 100% to blame for our breakup. Everything was perfect before I went and ruined it.”

“Jillian, listen to me.” Amber sets her cup on the low table between them. “Things weren’t perfect.”

Now Jillian puts her cup down on the table. “They weren’t?”

“What relationship is perfect?”

“Ours?” Jillian guesses.

Amber shakes her head. “I knew things were heading south. I knew for a long time. And I let it happen anyway.”

“What do you mean? _I_ didn’t even know it was heading south.”

Amber sighs again. “We never talked about it. ’Bout why you were so messed up. I knew it wasn’t just the MIT accident. I knew you before, remember? I knew you back when you were twenty-two and a mess and I could tell you’d had your heart broken. It was so obvious, Jillian. You were so desperate to be loved. You tried so hard to put on a tough front. But I knew. You just wanted love.”

Jillian swallows and doesn’t meet her eyes.

“I did my best,” Amber continues. “I gave what I was able to give and what you were willing to take. I fixed your hair that first time and let you go because that’s as much as I could fix in a night.” Amber pauses for a moment. “When I met you the second time, you were so much better. I wish it had worked out then. I wish we didn’t have to go our separate ways. I think maybe we could’ve been so much better than we were when we _did_ get a chance to be together.”

Jillian says nothing.

“When you found me in New York, you were messed up from the accident. I could see it right away. I thought that’s all that was wrong. I finally had my chance to turn things around for you. To fix you. And you did get better. You got so much better. It’s like you were a different person. You seemed happy. But every once in a while, I got glimpses of that broken-hearted twenty-two-year-old who was so desperate for love. And I realized that it didn’t seem to matter how much love I gave you. It wasn’t enough. It was never going to be enough for you.”

Jillian swears quietly. “Amber…”

Amber holds up a finger. “Now I know that you were never mine to ‘fix.’ You were never broken, Jillian. You didn’t need fixing. You’re a person, not bad hair.”

Jillian laughs softly.

“I think you thought you were broken, too,” Amber says. “I think you came lookin’ for me because you thought I could give you what you needed, and I thought I could, too. But you never needed love. You had love in spades. You always have.”

Jillian’s eyes prickle. She blinks a few times in succession.

“I was surprised when you proposed,” Amber says quietly. “Real surprised. You never seemed to think about the future, or at least, not a future with me. It didn’t seem like you saw our relationship as permanent. So when you proposed…I said yes. But there was a part of me who never expected it to last.”

Jillian looks up. “Your wedding dress.”

“I never got it, no.”

“Is it because…”

“It was only a matter of time, Jillian.”

Jillian exhales. Her hands are shaking a bit. She balls them up, then decides they look angry like that and flattens them out against her thighs. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn’t you?” Amber counters. “Look, this is me admitting that I played a part in our downfall, too. We were doomed from the start. You were in love with another woman and I thought I could fix you and be enough for you.”

“You were enough, Amber,” Jillian says. “You were so much more than I deserved.”

“But not who you needed,” Amber says.

“I loved you.”

“I know. I never doubted that. And I loved you. But sometimes that’s not enough.”

They sit in silence for a minute.

“Please tell me you’ve been okay since it ended, Amber,” Jillian says.

“I have been. Really. Life goes on. I only started thinking about you and started dissecting our relationship when I saw you all over the news back in September. It’s not like I’ve been wallowing over you.” Amber pauses. “I actually met someone.”

Jillian sits up straighter. “Really? What’s their name?”

Amber gives a half-smile. “Her name is Krystal. We always joke about it…y’know, crystal and amber…”

“How long have you been together?”

“Only about four months, give or take. But…it’s going really well. I have a good feeling. And, you know, not all of us can bounce from one engagement to another in a year.”

“Hey now, I…don’t even have a good comeback for that.”

Amber laughs.

Jillian softens her smile. “I’m really happy for you, Amber.” She hesitates. “I’m really glad you called. This was…good. I think you have a lot of good points. I _was_ using you, even if I wasn’t entirely aware of it. I _was_ desperate for love and I knew you would give it to me. I wanted to stop hurting over Erin. Regardless of what you feel you were getting out of the relationship, that’s a shitty thing to do, and I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too, Jillian. I wish we could’ve been something better than what we were. We really did have something special. Just…”

“The wrong circumstances. In another lifetime, the connection we had could’ve really been something.”

Amber nods.

There’s another long stretch of silence. Jillian picks up her forgotten coffee only to find it lukewarm, the peanut butter sunken at the bottom. She puts it back down.

“So, do I get to come to this sham of a wedding of yours?”

Jillian looks up, fighting back a smile. “Do you _want_ to?”

“Come on. I’ll always love you, Jillian, as a person and a friend. I genuinely care about your happiness. I’ve missed you. Course I want to see you get married, even if it’s not to me.”

“It won’t be awkward for you?”

“I ain’t gonna storm down the aisle and demand you call off the wedding, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Jillian laughs. “Of course you can come. I’d love it if you were there.”

“Good. I promise I won’t tell anyone that you’re already married and in the process of acquiring children.”

Jillian just shakes her head with a smile. “I really shouldn’t have told you that.”

 

Erin is working at her desk when she hears heavy footsteps on the stairs that she recognizes as Jillian’s.

“Hey,” she says without turning her head. “How was coffee?”

Then suddenly her chair is being spun around and Jillian is right there, and she bends down and takes Erin’s head firmly in her hands and kisses her hard enough for Erin to lose her breath, and then she stops just as abruptly as she started and steps back.

Erin gasps for breath. “What was that for?”

Jillian shoves her hands in her pockets. “I love you.”

“I…I love you, too.”

Jillian grins. “Let’s go out to dinner tonight. You pick the spot. My treat.”

Then she’s gone, dancing across the room to work on something, and all Erin can do is touch her lips and smile dumbly.

 

The rest of the year both flies and drags by.

Their adoption application is approved to move forward into the homestudy process. It’s exhausting, long, and difficult, but neither of them back down or reconsider.

The process hits a few snags. There’s some sort of clerical issue that essentially requires them to restart from the beginning, and that tests both their patience. Then they get kicked out of the agency-sponsored parental training workshop they’re in because Jillian yells at the instructor after the fifth instance of subtle homophobia, and have to wait for the next available sessions.

The whole process becomes increasingly difficult to hide from everyone. Abby and Patty are the most suspicious that something’s going on. Jillian and Erin are running out of excuses for why they constantly have to leave work early together, and each time, the others roll their eyes and make it clear that they don’t buy any of it. Even Connie casually checks in, which is how Jillian knows that Abby’s been talking to her and telling her that she thinks they’re hiding something.

In addition to the grueling adoption process, they’re also trying to plan a wedding. Suddenly, the year-and-a-half doesn’t seem long at all, not when there are seemingly a million things to do. It’s not even going to be that big of a wedding by most people’s standards, but there’s still a never-ending to-do list.

They try to keep everything fairly low-budget, opting to keep the décor minimalist and handmade when possible. Patty talks them through Pinterest and shows them how to browse for ideas. Jillian leaves most of it up to Erin.

Mark is paying for the wedding, which is why they’re trying to keep it simple. He pulled Jillian aside and told her right after they got back from the cemetery with the news. At first, she had just blinked and figured she misheard him. Then she realized he was serious.

“You never offered to pay for my wedding with Amber,” she had said.

He nodded. “I know.”

“I thought you liked Amber?”

“I did,” he said, “and I would’ve helped out a little. But I know how much Erin means to you. I think I always sort of knew she was the one for you.”

She had teared up at the admission.

In an effort to include him as much as possible, given that he’s footing the bill, Jillian goes back to Michigan to shop for her suit. She brings Patty along as a fashion consultant and they meet Mark in Grand Rapids.

She’s more than happy to get something off-the-rack (in fact, she’d be content to grab the coolest suit she can find at a thrift store), but Mark has other plans.

“A custom suit?” she says. “Really? I don’t know…that’s a lot of money. What if I don’t like it? Is it even worth it?”

“Holtzy, you wanna take that offer. Trust me. It’s your _wedding_.”

So she does.

 

Erin finds her dress in early November.

She went on a few shopping trips with Patty and Abby a few months prior, but had turned up short at every bridal salon they hit. Nothing she had tried on felt quite right. Eventually, she had gotten frustrated and called off their remaining appointments.

Then one day, she’s walking with Jillian and stops abruptly when she spots something in the window of a shop on the other side of the street.

Jillian stops talking and follows her gaze. “That’s nice.”

Erin stares at the dress for a few more seconds. “Sorry,” she says, and starts walking again. “What were you saying?”

“Wait, you’re not going to go take a look?”

“You’ve seen it now,” Erin points out.

Abruptly, Jillian pulls her by the hand out onto the street. A car honks.

“Jillian! What are you doing?”

“You’re going to go try on that dress.”

“Jillian!”

They reach the other side of the street. Jillian leads her to the store and pulls the door open, ushering her inside.

“Welcome,” the receptionist says. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No, we do not,” Jillian says. “But we were hoping to take a look at the dress in the display.”

The receptionist smiles. “One of our consultants had a cancellation. She’ll be able to help you out.”

The consultant, Netta, greets them warmly. “Who’s the bride?”

Jillian points at Erin.

Erin huffs. “We both are.”

“Wonderful!” Netta says. “Are you both on the hunt for dresses today?”

Jillian laughs so loudly that several other people in the store look their way.

“Just me,” Erin says quickly. “The one in the window…it, um…caught my attention?”

Netta flashes a smile. “Why don’t you get settled in changing room three, right down there on your left, and I’ll go grab the sample?”

Then she whirls off, leaving them alone.

“ _Jillian_ ,” Erin says right away.

Jillian holds her hands up. “Hey, I can leave if you want it to be a surprise. I’ll wait outside.”

“ _I_ don’t care if you see it before the wedding, but isn’t it…you know, bad luck or something?”

Jillian chuckles. “It’s probably bad luck to get married before your wedding, too.”

“Right.”

“You need to get better at pretending that you haven’t forgotten that we’re married,” Jillian says. “I’m starting to get offended.” She grins.

“I haven’t forgotten!” Erin protests.

“Whatever you say, Mrs. Gilbert,” Jillian calls from where she’s already started walking back towards the waiting area.

“That doesn’t mean anything because that’s my own last name!” Erin shouts after her. “And you forgot about the doctorate!”

Jillian winks over her shoulder.

As soon as Erin pulls on the dress, a sense of calm clarity envelops her. Before Netta has even done up the back, she’s already nodding.

“It’s the one,” she says.

Netta smiles. “Do you want to show your fiancée?”

Erin hesitates, about to say that maybe it should be a surprise after all, but then nods again and gathers the dress in her hands.

When she gets to the waiting area, Jillian is sitting on the couch, bent forward leaning on her knees, intently reading a magazine.

Erin lets the dress fall into place and clears her throat.

Jillian’s head snaps up and she seems to falter, her cockiness from earlier clearly dissipated. She blinks, wide-eyed and a little dazed, awe-struck, even. It’s a look she’s given Erin many times before, but never quite like this.

Erin smooths down the dress a little nervously when Jillian still hasn’t said anything a minute later.

“That bad, huh?” Erin jokes, then swallows. It’s okay. She’ll find another one.

Jillian gets up from the couch and walks towards her. Erin is about to ask what she’s doing when Jillian reaches her and grips the sides of her face to pull her in for a long kiss.

She rests her forehead against Erin’s when she’s done. “You are so incredibly beautiful,” she whispers. “I want to marry you all over again.”

Erin blushes, acutely aware that they have an audience.

(She doesn’t really mind).

 

A few days after Erin finds her dress, they’re attempting to cook dinner together and Erin clears her throat.

“I’ve been thinking,” she says, “about names and stuff?”

Jillian looks up from the onion she’s dicing. “Oh? You gonna change your name after all so everyone knows that I legally own you from now until the end of time?”

Erin rolls her eyes. “I happen to like my name and freedom, thank you very much.”

Jillian chuckles.

“No,” Erin says, “I was just thinking about how important the name Holtzmann is to you as a link to your mom, and…if for some reason we end up in a situation where we’re changing our adopted kid’s last name…I think we should use yours. If you want to, I mean.”

Jillian sets down the knife and looks over at Erin in shock. “Seriously?”

Erin nods.

“I…wow.” Jillian blinks. “Are you sure?”

“I’d be honoured if our children carried on the Holtzmann legacy,” Erin says. “Really.”

Jillian exhales. “Well. If we do…encounter that scenario…then I’ll have a lot to consider.”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s totally hypothetical…”

“Of course.”

“But I just thought I’d offer in case…”

“Thanks, Erin,” Jillian says genuinely.

Erin smiles.

 

As time stretches on, they start to wonder if maybe the universe doesn’t want them to have children at all.

They hit a few more bumps in the road when the homestudy process gets derailed again when their caseworker takes a sudden indefinite leave of absence due to an undisclosed medical issue. The whole process is put on hold while they’re assigned a new caseworker, who’s infinitely more scrutinizing and doesn’t seem to take anything at face value that their previous caseworker noted.

Then something comes up that hadn’t been an issue before.

“Let’s talk about your history of mental illness,” the new caseworker, Ramira, says, clicking her pen.

Erin’s heart sinks.

Jillian, on the couch beside Erin, sits up straighter and clears her throat. “Casey already investigated that. You’ll see the report there with the testimonies she gathered from my current and past psychologists.” She takes Erin’s hand, a nervous habit that has been happening a lot in these interviews. “Dr. Herald cleared me.”

“Indeed, Dr. Herald believes that on your current medication you are stable and fully able to care for a child.”

“Let me guess, you don’t agree?” Erin says indignantly.

“Erin…” Jillian says quietly.

“No, I’m trying to understand. What’s the problem, here? Dr. Herald cleared her. She’s fine. She’s not a threat to anyone. What’s the problem?”

Ramira waits until a few seconds after she’s stopped talking. It’s a technique of hers, to not say anything and give them a chance to keep talking and dig themselves further into the ground.

She picks up the dreaded folder on the coffee table and opens it, then removes the piece of paper on the top of the stack inside.

“I am mostly concerned about this incident in July of 2013, where Jillian had an involuntary hospitalization following an attempt—”

“ _Respectfully,_ Ramira,” Jillian says, “I have to agree with Erin. If Dr. Herald already cleared me, why should that matter? Listen, it was a bad moment. I’ll own that. But ever since then, I’ve been going to therapy and taking medication, and it’s never happened again.”

Erin is barely listening now. She’s staring at the carpet while her stomach flips like it does whenever they get talking about this. An interview like this is where she first heard about the extent of Jillian’s mental health battles over the years, but even in all the discussion, Jillian has done a good job of trying to keep as many of the details as possible from Erin. She says she doesn’t want to dwell on the past. Erin wonders if she’s just doing it to keep her from feeling any guiltier than she already does. She knows that she was the root of the whole decline in Jillian’s mental health, even though Jillian has reminded her several times that the natural predisposition has always been there. She’s struggled with depressive episodes ever since her mom died.

Erin still feels responsible, though. She can’t prove to what extent she worsened Jillian’s mental state over the years, but she knows she _did_ worsen it.

The room is silent. Ramira stares them down, then scrawls something on the paper and returns it to the file.

Later, after Ramira has left them alone for the day, Erin finds Jillian sitting on the counter in the kitchen with her heel rhythmically smacking the cupboard door below her. She hesitates for a moment, then climbs up beside her.

“This whole process is bullshit,” Jillian says dully.

Erin swallows. She doesn’t know what to say.

“They make this so difficult, but so many people who shouldn’t be allowed to have children get to make them whenever they want. You know how many kids out there have awful parents? A lot. So many. But we have to prove to some judgemental stranger that we have the potential to be _perfect_ parents? Seriously? We want to have a kid. We’ll love that kid no matter what. Hell, there are people who _don’t_ want kids and have them anyway! And hate them! It’s so _unfair_.” Jillian delivers another loud kick to the cupboards to punctuate. “What if we never get to have a family because this one stupid woman decides we can’t?”

Erin rests a hand on Jillian’s leg. “Hey. We’ll have a family, okay? There are other options. This is only our first attempt at this. There are other agencies, other methods of adoption, other things we can consider.”

“What if we’re not meant to have kids, though? What if this is all a sign from the universe?”

Erin is quiet for a moment. “I don’t think it is. Look at all the obstacles that the universe threw at _us_. We still made it through, right? It was meant to happen. I think this is, too.”

Jillian exhales loudly. “I know. I’m just overreacting. It just feels really shitty to have a stranger tell you that she thinks you’re too unstable to care for a child.”

“She doesn’t know anything, Jillian,” Erin says gently. “You’re the most loving, caring person I’ve ever met. You’re going to be a great parent.”

“If I’m ever allowed the chance,” Jillian says glumly.

Erin doesn’t even know what to say to that.

 

They keep going, because at this point all they can do is try, even though the process seems to be heading nowhere.

Their wedding draws closer. It takes their mind off things.

Whenever the others notice and comment on how stressed they seem, they blame the wedding. It’s a good excuse.

Jillian continues to think.

The more obstacles thrown at them to prevent them from having kids, the more she wants kids. Even when they were first talking about it, she knew she wanted them but didn’t know _just_ how much she wanted them. She wants so desperately to be the mother that her mom was cut short from being. To let Erin be the mother that she never had. To give some lonely children all the love that they deserve.

She thinks about Erin’s offer, about having the Holtzmann name live on after Jillian’s gone. She thinks about how she never lived up to her mom, how she used the name to escape—not embrace—who she was.

She keeps thinking about that.

Months fly by.

In June, to coincide with the 50th anniversary of Stonewall, WorldPride is hosted in NYC. Most of the Dykes come down for it, and for a lot of them it’s their retirement ride. Rebecca even agrees to ride with Connie in the parade for the first time ever. Jillian manages to convince Erin to ride with her on her brand-new bike for the first time ever, too, by telling her that she’s going to be the only one not participating. Abby, Patty, and Kevin are driving the new-and-improved Ecto for the second year in a row. Last year Erin spectated with Rebecca.

The air is electric in the staging area. Jillian went all-out this year with a record number of rainbows on her person and a custom-printed rainbow flag hanging off the back of her bike with their Ghostbusters logo. She even managed to get a few rainbows on Erin, too.

They’re all waiting, nearly ready to go, bikes idling beneath them, when Jillian faintly hears the sound of her ringtone. She contemplates letting it go to voicemail, but fishes it out at the last second and glances at the screen.

“Shit,” she says when she sees the name of their adoption agency on the screen.

“What is it?” Erin shouts in her ear over the din, but Jillian has already answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Is this Jillian Holtzmann?”

“This is she, yes,” Jillian says, and has such an intense sense of déjà vu that she nearly falls off the motorcycle. She covers her ear to try and hear better over the roar of bikes.

“Hi, Jillian, this is Yolanda from Loving Hearts. Is your wife around? I have some news about your application.”

Erin nudges her arm. “Jillian, everyone’s moving!”

Jillian shakes her head. “Yes, she’s right here.”

“Wonderful. Well, I have good news. Your homestudy has been approved! You are now able to start searching for a potential match!”

Jillian blinks. “Excuse me?” She shuts off the bike.

“Jillian! We have to _go._ ”

“You’ve been approved for adoption, Mrs. Holtzmann!”

“Dr. Holtzmann,” she corrects numbly. “It’s Dr. Holtzmann.”

“My apologies, Dr. Holtzmann. Anyways, I’ll let you go, but we’ll be following up shortly with the next steps so we can work on finding a compatible child for you.”

“Thank—thank you.”

“Have a wonderful day, Dr. Holtzmann.”

“I will,” Jillian says, and then she hangs up.

Erin has climbed off the back of the bike and is standing in front of her with her arms crossed. “Are you _done?_ We’re holding up the entire parade!”

“Hey, Erin?” Jilllian says, a smile curling on her lips.

“What?!”

“I think the parade can wait for a second while you get a load of this.”

(The parade _can_ wait, as it turns out).

 

The two of them have dinner reservations with Rebecca and Connie that night, so after they’ve done soaking up the festivities, they all go back to the apartment to get ready. Rebecca and Connie are staying with them.

In the privacy of their bedroom, alone for the first time since they got the phone call, Erin throws her arms around Jillian and kisses her.

“We’re going to be parents,” she says quietly so Rebecca and Connie won’t hear.

Jillian pulls back and smiles weakly at her. “Yep.”

“Should we tell Rebecca and Connie at dinner?”

“No!” Jillian says quickly.

Erin frowns. “Oh. I thought—do you want to tell Abby first?”

“I don’t think we should tell anybody.”

She frowns deeper. “Why? It’s official now!”

“Not _really_ ,” Jillian says. “We still might not find a good match for years. And we’re not even married yet.”

“Yes we are,” Erin points out.

“You know what I mean. After the wedding?”

“I…sure. I just thought…I mean, you really wanted to tell everyone before, and now that we’ve been approved…”

“I know. Just…not yet, okay?”

“Okay…” Erin says, but something about the conversation doesn’t quite sit right with her.

Jillian kisses her forehead and smiles softly. “Hey. We’re going to be parents.”

Erin smiles back at that. “Yeah. We are.”

She gets changed into a dress and turns to let Jillian zip it up. Then she stations herself in front of the bathroom mirror and turns on her curling iron, taking the rainbow scrunchie out of her hair and shaking it loose.

“Shoulda left it like that,” Jillian says.

Erin looks down at her. She’s sitting on the closed toilet lid. “We’re going to a nice restaurant.”

“It’s Pride,” Jillian counters.

“Please tell me you’re planning on changing,” Erin says. She’s still wearing her full ensemble from earlier.

Jillian pouts. “Taking off the pasties is the wooorst.”

“Leave them on, then.”

Jillian raises an eyebrow.

Erin rolls her eyes and picks up the now-heated curling iron. “Under a shirt, Jillian.”

Jillian chuckles and stands up. “I understand.”

“Do you, though?” Erin calls over her shoulder as Jillian exits the bathroom. “Jillian?”

When she gets no response, she sighs and gets to work on her hair.

After she’s done, she leaves the bathroom herself to find Jillian sitting on the edge of their bed, rainbow pasties peeking out from under an unbuttoned dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

At least she’s wearing pants.

Erin tsks. “Seriously?”

“I’m wearing a shirt.”

Erin rolls her eyes and, because she knows Jillian won’t do it, bends and starts buttoning up the shirt. Jillian lounges back on her elbows with a smirk.

“You’re going to be a great mom,” she singsongs.

Erin looks at her. “And you’re going to be a responsible adult and _not_ another child for me to watch, right?”

“Right. I’m going to be the fun mom and you’re going to be the mom who makes sure our kids don’t go to school naked or accidentally drink some liquid plutonium.”

“Why would our children have access to liquid plutonium, Jillian?”

Jillian winks.

Erin finishes with the buttons and straightens up with a sigh. “It’s actually amazing that we passed our homestudy, all things considered.”

“I clean up nice,” Jillian says.

Erin shoots her a pointed look that she seems to miss.

They finally rejoin Connie and Rebecca, who are waiting for them in the living room.

“Sorry we took so long,” Jillian says. “Erin couldn’t decide what to wear.”

Erin shoves her.

 

Dinner is nice, but Jillian is distracted thinking about the news and trying to figure out why she isn’t as excited as she thought she’d be. She should be ecstatic right now.

“You doin’ okay, kid?” Connie asks quietly beside her.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” Jillian says. Even she knows how unconvincing it is. She knows Erin can tell something’s wrong, too.

Connie is quiet for a few seconds. “That call you got today…”

Jillian freezes. “Saw that, huh?”

“Hard not to.”

Jillian pushes the food on her plate around with her fork. Erin is engaged in a conversation with Rebecca, but Jillian can tell that she’s half-listening in on them.

“It was nothing,” Jillian says.

“You’d tell us if it was…something bad…right?” Connie says earnestly, concern evident.

“Yes,” Jillian says honestly. “I know my track record isn’t great, but I promise I would.”

“Alright.”

Connie relaxes a bit after that, but Erin doesn’t. Jillian tries to be more convincingly happy and fails.

For the rest of their visit, she tries.

As soon as they’ve departed for Boston, Erin pounces on her.

“Are we going to talk about what’s going on?”

Jillian plays dumb. “What do you mean?”

“Ever since we got the news, you’ve been all weird.”

“I’m always wei—”

“More weird than usual, Jillian. Bad-weird. What’s going on? Did you change your mind about kids now that it’s real? It’s okay if you have. You don’t have to lie or feel obligated because you were on board before. I just want you to be honest with me.”

Jillian holds her hands up. “Whoa. Hold on for a second. Nothing’s changed. I do still want kids.”

“Do you?” Erin says. “Do you _actually?_ ”

“Yes,” Jillian says automatically. She swallows. “I swear. The pull has only gotten stronger since we started the process.”

“But?”

“But…I don’t know. I should be over the moon about the news, right? But something feels…off. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just still too hypothetical? I can’t explain it.”

“Too hypothetical,” Erin says. “Okay, let’s work with that. Why don’t we start looking at the Adoption Album? Maybe actually seeing children that we could adopt will help you?”

Jillian nods eagerly. “Yes. Let’s do that.”

They settle onto their couch with Erin’s laptop and pull up the statewide photolisting service. They silently browse through a couple profiles of adoptable children.

“She sounds like a sweetheart,” Erin murmurs.

Jillian makes a noise of agreement.

They keep going.

“Siblings,” Erin says. “How do we feel about siblings?”

Jillian makes an indifferent noise.

Erin sighs. “Jillian.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing?”

“I…I want to adopt all of them because I want them to have loving homes. But I don’t feel…anything for them. They’re just children. Do you?”

Erin shuts the laptop. “Well, none of _these_ ones. But I think…when we find the one who’s meant to be a part of our family, we’ll know. Right? I think it’s okay that you don’t feel anything right now.”

Jillian exhales. “I dunno. It still feels…off, somehow. Maybe because we aren’t married yet?”

“We are married.”

“Erin.”

“No, I know. This is a lot to process right now while we’re still planning a wedding. Maybe we should put a pause on all of this until after the wedding. What do you think?”

Jillian nods. “I think that sounds like a good plan.”

Erin smiles weakly. “It’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out. This doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Jillian nods again and smiles back as best as she can.

It does mean something, though.

The only question is what.

 

July passes in a blur of wedding preparations. Erin’s dress arrives and only requires minor alterations. The bridesmaid dresses look great. Jillian’s suit comes in and she goes to pick it up from the NYC branch.

Something’s still wrong with Jillian, but Erin tries really hard not to let it affect her or give her any doubts. They try to talk through what’s going on, but Jillian can’t seem to articulate it and often doesn’t want to talk about it. Erin gives her space, but she worries.

Abby, with her keen eye, even approaches Jillian multiple times to ask what’s going on, and when she’s unsatisfied with the answer she gets, she comes to Erin and grills her. Erin is honest and says she doesn’t know what’s going on. She says maybe it has to do with the stress of the wedding, which isn’t a complete lie. It’s still possible that’s the reason.

There’s no way to know for sure except to keep pushing on ahead and get through the wedding.

 

Two weeks before the wedding, Jillian needs some air and makes a break for the roof of the firehouse with some nonsensical excuse about testing a prototype (she’s not even carrying a prototype, only an engine of one). Erin watches her go and looks like for a second she might follow her. Jillian tacks on some warning about potential danger and not wanting bystanders and that seems to discourage her from following.

When she gets up to the roof, she sets the engine down by the door along with the bundle of wires that were also in her hand at the time of her hasty departure.

She walks until she hits the corner of the roof and then stares out at the city. Without taking her eyes off the skyline, she pulls her phone from her pocket and unlocks it. She glances at the screen long enough to dial Rebecca, then looks back out at the city moving beneath her as it rings.

Rebecca answers after one ring. “Jillian? I am at the lab.”

“I know. So am I.”

“Are you injured? What’s wrong?”

“Everything’s fine.”

A pause. “Why are you calling me at work?”

“I need advice.”

Another pause. “Connie is at home right now, I believe.”

“I need _your_ advice. It has to be you.”

“Jillian, I am in the middle of something extremely sensitive. Surely you understand.”

“Please, Rebecca?” Jillian says in a very small voice.

There are five seconds of silence. “Very well. I will call you back in two minutes after I make sure the lab is secured.”

She hangs up. Jillian lets her hand with the phone dangle by her side and waits, counting the seconds on her green watch.

The phone rings after a minute and forty-seven seconds. She answers right away.

“I am in my office now.”

“Cool. I’m still on the roof.”

A sigh. “Why are you on the roof?”

“Needed some air. Space to think.”

“I imagine it is quite warm up there...”

“I didn’t call to talk about the weather,” Jillian says. She turns and sits in the corner, tucking herself in the narrow patch of shade provided by the wall. “But yes, it’s sweltering.”

“What _did_ you call to talk about?” Rebecca says pointedly.

Jillian stretches out her legs, then retracts them back into the shade quickly when she realizes how hot the concrete is. She swallows. “Erin.”

“Oh.”

She waits to see if Rebecca will prod further. She doesn’t.

“Am I making a mistake, Rebecca?” she whispers.

Silence. “You know I cannot answer that, Jillian.”

“Why not?” Jillian whines.

Rebecca doesn’t say anything.

“I love Erin,” Jillian says.

Rebecca sighs. “Are you calling to once again ask my advice about breaking off your engagement?”

“No,” Jillian says quickly. “No,” she says again, quieter. “I don’t think so. I love Erin…and there’s nobody else. There’s never going to be anyone else.”

“Is that enough of a reason to marry her?”

Jillian is quiet for a few seconds. “This is why I phoned you. You don’t like Erin, so you’re more objective about this.”

Rebecca scoffs quietly. “I don’t know that I’m any less biased. I can merely offer a different perspective.” She sighs. “I like Erin just fine.”

“Not as much as Amber.”

Rebecca hesitates. “No.”

“Is it just because you don’t trust her?”

Another hesitation. “Not fully, no. I am not an easy person to win over.”

“I know.” Jillian looks up at the sky and watches a plane pass. “Trust aside, do you think she’s a good fit for me?”

Silence.

Jillian huffs. “I’m not looking for an answer. Just…your personal opinion. Is she good for me?”

More silence.

“Rebecca, come on. I know you have an opinion. Your silence is telling me something.”

“It’s not my place, Jillian. I made that error before. Only you can answer that.”

“Please?” she begs. “Just…anything?”

“The fact that you are calling me suggests that you have already thought a great deal about this.”

“I know.” Jillian closes her eyes. “I love her, Rebecca. I know that I do. I’ve never doubted that. Not now, not ever. She’s the one I’m supposed to be with.”

Rebecca waits.

“Something feels wrong,” Jillian admits. “I don’t know what. I don’t _think_ it’s Erin herself who’s the problem...” She sighs. Her eyes are still closed. “Do you think maybe we’re rushing into things? I mean, we got engaged a few months after we started dating. I know it had really been in the making for the better part of our lives, and it didn’t _feel_ too fast…but do you think that could be it?”

Rebecca is still quiet. It’s the same technique their caseworker used in their interviews to get them to talk more. The same technique her therapists use to get her to work through her problems herself. Jillian guesses it’s less a technique for Rebecca and more a symptom of how little she likes talking to people.

“It could also be the fact that we’re already married,” Jillian says, then swears.

“Sorry?”

“Nothing—we’re…shit. We’re already married.”

“You’re already married.”

“Yeah. Since last January. Right after we got engaged.” She squeezes her eyes further shut, mentally berating herself for letting it slip.

“I see.”

“It’s ’cause we’re—fuck. You can’t tell Connie any of this. We’re…we’ve been approved for adoption.”

“Oh,” Rebecca says, clearly surprised.

“I think that could be why everything feels so weird. It’s been going on ever since we found out we were approved. But it could also just be because something else is wrong?” Jillian babbles. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I just know that something _is_ wrong. I can feel it. My gut is always right about something being wrong. I just never know what until it’s too late.”

More silence. This time, Jillian waits. She’s played this game before.

“You said the feeling began after you found out…that you were approved?”

“Yeah. The day we got the call.”

“Could it be related to…that? Not Erin?”

Jillian sighs. “Yes. Probably. But what if that was just everything coming to a head? It feels like…maybe it is happening too fast. I got a little overwhelmed by it all.”

“Did you discuss this with Erin?”

“Yeah. Lots of times. Well, the part about the adoption stuff happening too fast. We decided to put it on hold until after the wedding. I haven’t really mentioned that maybe we’re moving too fast in general because…I mean, we can’t exactly turn back now.”

“Could that be the problem?”

“What?”

“Being unable to turn back.”

Jillian frowns at the thought and opens her eyes finally, squinting at the harsh sunlight for a second, then freezes. Her stomach bottoms out.

“I need to call you back later,” she says quickly, and then hangs up before Rebecca can reply.

She scrambles to her feet.

Across the roof, one hand on the open door, Erin’s face is unreadable.

“You know it’s a little late for cold feet, right? We’re already married.” Her voice is flat. Hurt.

“How long have you been listening?”

“Long enough,” Erin says. “It’s a relief to know you don’t _think_ I’m the problem. It wasn’t something I was worried about until now.”

“Shit. Erin…”

“No, it’s okay. I had to hear it eventually, right? Or were you just going to keep telling me everything was fine until the day we got divorced?”

Jillian flinches. “Erin—”

“I’m going to go. I’ll let you get back to Rebecca. It’s clear that you don’t feel like you can talk to me.”

“ _Erin_.” Jillian closes the distance and grabs her by the elbow to keep her from leaving.

Erin turns to her. “What, Jillian? _What?_ Am I moving too _fast_ for you?”

Jillian feels tears prick at her eyes. “You’re taking everything out of context.”

“I’ve been standing here for a while, Jillian. I don’t know how much context could help in this situation.”

Jillian grits her teeth, exhales. “I think I was maybe on the verge of figuring something out.”

Erin crosses her arms. “What?”

“I think Rebecca was onto something. She asked if…if maybe the problem was that I felt like there’s no turning back. You know, because we _are_ already married…”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“Erin…” Jillian licks her lips and looks at the ground. Sweat drips down the back of her neck. It’s too hot. “I don’t think the problem is that I feel trapped.”

Erin waits.

“I think maybe…I’m worried that you do. That we’re moving too fast andyouhaven’thadenoughtimetogetoutifyou’regoingto.”

Erin stares at her. Blinks. “To get _out?”_

Jillian nods. “Of this. To leave. We dated for a few months and then got _married_ , Erin. With our…well, _your_ history…I think I’m just worried…”

“That it didn’t give me enough of a chance to test this out and leave?” Erin says quietly.

Jillian looks at the ground again.

“You think I’m going to leave again,” Erin says, a bit louder.

“I don’t think you _are_ ,” Jillian says. “But I think that fear is always going to be there. Why wouldn’t it be? I think that’s reasonable.”

“Jillian, I…” Erin shakes her head. “I don’t know how much more I could _do_. Proposing, getting married, looking at starting a family…I’m trying to show you that I’m committing to you, to _this_ , but if you can’t _see_ that… _trust_ that…well, maybe we _are_ doomed.”

“Who are you trying to convince, Erin? Me…or you?”

Erin plants her hands on her hips. “Jillian, as far as I can see, there’s only one person who seems in danger of calling this off.”

“I would never walk away from us,” Jillian says quietly.

“Neither would I.”

“You did before.”

“There wasn’t an _us_ , Jillian,” Erin snaps. “Not like this.”

Jillian holds her gaze for a few seconds and swallows. She’s shaking a bit. “I guess that’s where we disagree,” she says, voice shaking as well.

Then she pushes past her, down the stairs, away from the heat and far away from Erin.

 

Erin checks every floor before making her way down to the main floor.

“Hey, what’s—”

“Where is she?” Erin says, cutting off Abby before she can finish her question.

“Left. Didn’t say where she was going,” Patty says. “She okay?”

Erin doesn’t answer, because she’s already grabbed her purse and is out the door.

She sees messy blonde hair cutting through the crowd a block to the left.

She runs.

 

Jillian is pushing her way through the bustling street, tears blurring everything but the truth, when someone catches her arm. She knows who it is, but before she can pull away, Erin has tugged her around and pulled her into a tight embrace. Not kissing her, not even really hugging her, just holding her. Holding _onto_ her, Jillian realizes. Holding her close.

She buries her head into Erin’s chest and cries. Erin holds her.

She doesn’t know how long they stay there blocking the sidewalk. Pedestrians go around them, flip them off, snap at them. They don’t move.

“Let’s go home,” Erin murmurs finally.

They do.

They cab all the way home, which probably costs as much as the wedding, but Jillian is in no state to ride the bike or take public transit. She lets Erin continue to hold her in the back seat of the taxi.

In the apartment, they push aside the stacks of wedding decorations on the couch and curl up together there. Erin wraps her in the microfibre blanket hanging off the back of the couch despite the heat and thumbs the tears from her cheeks.

“I was wrong,” Erin says quietly.

Jillian closes her eyes and hangs her head.

“There was always an us,” she adds. “I knew it, and it scared me. That’s why I left.”

“You left because of the book,” Jillian says. She opens her eyes.

Erin holds her gaze. “Did I?”

“You said you did.”

“I know. And I did. But it was because of us, too. It was because I knew that I loved you in a way that I didn’t think I should. I was scared of that.” Erin takes her hands and squeezes tightly. “I’m not scared of that anymore, Jillian. None of it scares me. Spending the rest of my existence with you, raising kids with you…none of it scares me. You’re all that matters to me. You’re everything. I would never, _could_ never leave you again. I just couldn’t.”

Jillian swallows.

“I love you, Jillian. That’s never changed, and it’s never going to change.”

“I know,” Jillian whispers. “It’s all just…so big. The wedding. Starting a family. It’s a lot.”

“It is,” Erin agrees. “So let’s take it one step at a time, alright? It’s only as big a deal as we make it. We’ve already gotten married, right? That’s the scary part. For now, all we have to do next is make it through our wedding. And that’s just an excuse to get all our family and friends together to celebrate our love. That’s not such a big deal.” She squeezes her hands again. “We’ll keep it simple, okay?”

For the first time in weeks, Jillian truly, genuinely smiles. “Okay.”

 

They keep it simple.

Under the canopy of trees, Erin reaches blindly for Jillian’s hand.

“It’s almost time. Are you ready?” She looks over at her bride and is struck for the billionth time tonight how stunning she is, her white custom suit perfectly tailored, hair down, forget-me-not boutonniere. It’s like prom night all over again, but a million times better.

Jillian’s smile is serene, ethereal. “Just about. I just want to take a moment to remember this forever.”

“Won’t you anyway?” Erin teases.

Jillian’s smile widens. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Erin says.

“Hey, we haven’t got there yet.”

“Actually, we got there a _long_ time ago. Did you forget that we’re already ma—”

“Keep your voice down. We have to keep some magic to the ceremony.”

Erin giggles and shoves her.

Jillian laughs, too, then sobers, her smile melting into something more adoring. “I can’t believe we’re getting married right now. Here.” She gestures at the forest around them.

“Who would’ve thought, all those years ago…”

“Me,” Jillian says. “I did.”

Erin kisses her cheek. “I know you did.”

Jillian pulls her in for a real kiss, then tucks a stray curl behind Erin’s ear. “You’re just as beautiful as you were back then.”

“ _That_ is an insult.”

“It’s true!”

“I was _twelve_.”

Jillian grins. In the distance, the opening notes of Diana Ross and Lionel Richie’s _[Endless Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JM_R1R28kLM)_  start playing.

Erin rolls her eyes. “Come on. That’s our cue. We should go before people start to wonder if we got eaten by a bear.”

_“My love, there's only you in my life, the only thing that's bright.”_

Jillian’s grin widens. “There are no bears in here.”

_“My first love, you're every breath that I take, you're every step I make.”_

Erin just laughs and tugs her by the hand through the trees until they hit the clearing and everything comes into view.

_“And I, I want to share all my love with you.”_

All their loved ones are standing, eyes on them, paving a pathway to the flowered arch where Max waits, rainbow stole draped over her shoulders. On either side, Kevin, Patty, Abby, and Luke stand with the sunset shining off the calm surface of the lake behind them. Overhead, hundreds upon hundreds of string lights are strung from tree to tree across the clearing, burning bright and strong.

Erin and Jillian look at each other at the same time, and smile. They walk slowly, but with a skip to their steps, down the aisle together until they reach the arch.

“Did you guys get lost?” Abby says.

“We were just taking our time,” Erin says.

“That’s for sure,” Abby says under her breath.

“Heard that,” Jillian says cheerfully.

Max invites everyone to sit down and begins the ceremony. Erin doesn’t even hear any of it, because the only thing she can focus on is Jillian across from her. Nothing else matters.

She’s so out of it that Max has to repeat the request for her to say her vows, which gets warm laughter from their audience.

Erin has practiced her vows so many times over the past few months that she’s got them completely memorized. She clears her throat.

“Jillian,” she begins, and squeezes her hands, “when we were little kids, everything seemed simple. Love seemed simple. The concept of _forever_ , that seemed simple, too. Then we grew up, and everything got complicated. Nothing was as clear as it was when we were younger.” She takes a deep breath. “But now I know that loving you _is_ simple. It’s the only thing that makes sense.” She blinks back tears that weren’t there a second ago and pushes on. “We talked a lot about _forever_ when we were kids, but we didn’t know what it meant—nobody did. But now, now we can say that we actually _do_ understand what forever means. We know the truth. Forever is possible.”

Jillian nods in acknowledgement. Her eyes are a little shiny.

“I promised you forever,” Erin continues, “and now that I know what that means, I’m delivering that promise. I love you, Jillian Holtzmann, and I vow to be by your side through everything that comes our way from now until the end of time. I’m promising you forever, and this time, I mean it.”

Jillian releases one of her hands and wipes her eyes on her sleeve. Erin takes the opportunity to do the same, then she gets the ring from Abby and with shaking hands slides it into place on Jillian’s left hand. Jillian looks down at it for a few seconds with a smile and then clears her throat loudly.

“Erin,” she begins, “thirty years ago today, I walked into a library not too far from here looking for a book and found you instead.”

Erin already has tears gathering on her cheeks.

“I don’t know that I was necessarily meant to find you that day. It was the moment our story began, but if you think about it, there were so many moments in our lives that we found each other. Again, and again, and again, and again, we found each other. The public library in Battle Creek. Our fourth-grade classroom.  This very camp in a cabin right over there.” She points, then takes Erin’s hand again. “An AP Calculus classroom in a high school that I was never supposed to attend. A Quantum Theory class at MIT. On campus at Columbia. In a paranormal research lab at the Kenneth P. Higgins Institute.

“In a universe that’s billions of years old, on a planet with billions of hectares of land, in a sea of billions of people…we always found each other. Across cities and states. Months and years. The statistical probability of us finding each other as many times as we did considering the circumstances is so low that it’s _impossible_ that this wasn’t fated for us. It didn’t matter how far away we got from each other, how hard we tried to escape, how many years passed. It didn’t matter what choices we made in the end. We were meant to find each other as many times as it took until we were standing right here like we are right now.

“I hope that this is it, that we never have to find each other again, but I firmly believe that if we ever do have to find each other again, we will. I’m more sure of it than I’ve ever been about anything in my entire life, except maybe my love for you. I love you, Erin, so much more than words can express, and I’m eternally grateful that you’re the one who I was meant to find. Billions of years, and I get the privilege of marrying you on this beautiful night.”

Erin is fully crying, now. She can barely see as Jillian slides her ring in place.

Max says some more words, but she doesn’t hear any of them until they get the go-ahead to kiss, and she throws herself at Jillian and seals her fate with such fervor that she nearly topples them both over.

And they’re married.

 

Abby hugs them first. Then Connie is there, and she looks so proud that Jillian nearly starts crying again.

“So happy for you, kid,” she says in her ear as she hugs her before moving on to hug and congratulate Erin as well.

Even Rebecca looks emotional, although she hides it well. “Congratulations,” she says warmly, and then ducks out of the way to make room for the rest of their guests.

Mark’s next, and he hugs both of them tightly and welcomes Erin to the family. Patty screams excitedly and rocks the two of them back and forth in a group hug. Kevin shakes their hands very professionally. On and on it goes until Erika, one of Rebecca and Connie’s friends who they’ve hired as their photographer, pulls them aside to take their photos.

They rely on her direction for most of the shots, but there’s a few that they have planned. The three of them hike out to Cabin 13 and find the tree where Jillian carved their nicknames once upon a time, which is miraculously still standing twenty-six years later. Erika gets a few good shots there.

Back down by the lake, they take more photos, both individually and together. Every time Erin’s the only one being photographed, all Jillian can do is stare. She’s so incredibly beautiful. She can’t believe how lucky she is to be married to her.

(She’s been married to her for over a year, of course, but this is different).

 

Because of the late hour, they have no formal wedding schedule. It’s way past dinner, but there are a few tables worth of food for their guests to nibble on. While they were taking photos, their guests moved to the tables scattered around the large dance floor, where they’re all drinking and eating and chatting happily.

Erin makes the rounds with Jillian, stopping at different tables to thank people for coming. They arrive first at the table where Max, Rebecca, and Connie are chatting.

“So,” Max says, looking back and forth between them, “did the ceremony go okay? Are you happy?”

Jillian grins. “It was perfect, Max. We can’t thank you enough for doing this for us. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

Max smiles and shifts in her seat. “I’m sorry again that Sam couldn’t make it. She wanted to be here, but the kids are having a hard time adjusting.”

Sam, Max’s wife, had to stay behind in Boston with a new pair of foster children who joined them a couple months back.

“It’s all good,” Jillian says.

“We’re just glad you came down,” Erin says. “It’s a long trip, and we really appreciate it.”

“How does it feel finally being married?” Connie asks. “You’ve been waiting a long time.”

Rebecca coughs behind her drink.

Erin blushes. “Yeah, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? Uh…”

Jillian elbows her. “I don’t know about my wife, but _I’m_ feeling fantastic.”

“Yeah,” Erin says, and kisses Jillian’s cheek. “It feels fantastic.”

The next table holds several of Jillian’s friends from her bartending days in Boston, and more importantly, Amber and her girlfriend. Erin shuffles nervously. Amber had greeted them right after the ceremony, but this will be her first time actually speaking to her.

Amber smiles warmly and stands to hug Jillian. Erin tries not to feel jealous.

Then she hugs Erin and steps back, holds her shoulders, surveys her. “Oh, Erin.” She nods to herself. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Erin squeaks.

“A lot makes sense now.”

“Like what?” Jillian crosses her arms and leans against the table with a smirk.

“You ain’t always the best judge of character, hon. I didn’t know if the mystery girl really _was_ the one for you.”

“Whaddya think now?” Jillian says.

Erin bites her lip.

Amber’s smile widens. “She is.”

Erin exhales. Jillian laughs.

“Thanks for your blessing,” she teases, slugging Amber on the arm before moving to talk to Amber’s girlfriend.

Erin hesitates. “Amber?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“Can we—could I talk to you for a second? Over there?”

“Course.” She sets her drink down on the table and follows Erin.

Erin looks over her shoulder to see Jillian, now seated at the table, give her a little salute. If she’s worried, it doesn’t show.

Out of earshot of everyone, Erin wrings her hands. “I just wanted to thank you. For taking care of her when I…didn’t. I know you didn’t do it for me, because you didn’t even know I existed, but I’m still thankful. She needed someone. She had friends, and family, but she needed someone like you.”

“She’s a special person,” Amber pronounces. “She deserves to be loved properly. I think you know that now.”

“I always did.” Erin swallow. “But now I’m ready to love her. Forever.”

Amber nods. “Good.”

“You loved her, too,” Erin says.

Amber nods again.

“And you let her go.” Erin’s voice shakes.

Amber licks her lips and nods once more. “I did.”

“Thank you,” Erin whispers.

“Just don’t take her for granted,” Amber says. “You’re one damn lucky woman to have the privilege of being loved by Jillian Holtzmann.”

It’s Erin’s turn to nod, tears in her eyes. “I know.”

 

When it’s time for their first dance, Erin leads Jillian out to the dance floor and they resume the dance that they never got to finish.

They revolve slowly under the stars to [Shania Twain’s serenade](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a-Lp2uC_1lg).

_“I give my hand to you with all my heart. I can't wait to live my life with you; I can't wait to start.”_

This time there are no angry parent chaperones, no disapproving glares, only a circle of loved ones watching them fondly.

_“I promise you this: there is nothing I wouldn't give from this moment on.”_

Under the canopy of lights, they dance. Jillian rests her cheek against Erin’s chest. “I love you,” she murmurs.

Erin kisses her head. “I love you.”

Others join them on the dance floor. Many of the Dykes and their respective partners. Mark and Brenda. Luke and Cara. Amber and Krystal.

Rebecca and Connie end up closest to them, and Jillian watches them for a while with a smile. Dressed in their casual-summer-wedding finest and out-dancing most of the other couples, they too look like they were made for each other. As they turn, Connie says something that Jillian doesn’t catch, but it elicits an authentic smile from Rebecca and a response that makes Connie laugh.

Watching them, a feeling of complete joy and contentment washes through Jillian, because in that moment she realizes she finally has what they have.

By the time the song finishes, she’s got tears in her eyes again. She wipes them away and kisses Erin as the music transitions.

After a few dances, they break apart to dance with some of the people waiting. Jillian pops over to Kevin, who’s DJing (surprisingly well so far), and instructs him to play a pre-arranged song. Then she beelines for Rebecca and Connie who are still dancing with each other.

“Heyyy. Mind if I steal you from your wife for a dance?”

Rebecca raises her eyebrows. “Who are you talking to?”

“Connie…but don’t worry, Becca, I’ll be back for you next. Whaddya say, Connie? Dance with me?”

Connie grins. “Course, Holtz.”

Rebecca steps away with a slight smile and goes to sit down.

“So,” Jillian says, “I picked out an appropriately cheesy song just for you.”

 _[Bridge Over Troubled Water](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H_a46WJ1viA)_ is playing. Connie laughs and smiles warmly.

She lets Connie lead as they begin to dance.

_“When you're weary, feeling small.”_

Jillian licks her lips and inhales deeply to calm her nerves. “There are a few things I want to say.”

_“When tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all.”_

“Pretty sure you’re supposed to be on the other end of the speeches tonight, Holtz,” Connie says with an encouraging smile.

Jillian chuckles. “Yeah, I know. It’s important, though.”

Connie nods.

Jillian exhales. “Okay. So. I think it’s pretty safe to say that I wouldn’t be here tonight if not for you.”

Connie immediately frowns and looks like she’s going to contest that.

_“When you're down and out, when you're on the street, when evening falls so hard, I will comfort you.”_

Jillian keeps talking. “No, it is. Not only—not only is it debatable about whether or not I would even be alive—”

Connie frowns deeper.

_“I'll take your part when darkness comes and pain is all around.”_

“—but I definitely wouldn’t be _here_ without you. Who I am today—happy, unafraid, confident, unashamed and proud of who I am, not completely okay but working on it—I owe so much of it to you. You and Rebecca, but mostly you, taught me how to accept the love that others have for me without guilt. You taught me that it’s okay to feel the way I feel, and that it doesn’t make me a weak person. You nudged me from a twenty-five-year-old mess of a grad student with unhealthy habits, a poor outlook on life, no motivation, no ambition…into the person I am today. Thirty-seven, married to the love of my life, happier than I have been for a long time. Someone who takes care of herself even when there’s nobody watching. Someone who believes in fate and the powers of the universe but who ultimately knows she has to take ownership for her actions. Someone who works hard to better herself every single day. Someone who tries really hard to put care and attention into the safety of her work because now she values her own life as much as she values the lives of others. Someone who wants to be alive.”

_“Sail on Silver Girl, sail on by, your time has come to shine.”_

“To me, the purpose of life is to love, and to love and _be_ loved is what you have shown me. Unconditional love. How to give it, how to receive it. I didn’t really understand what healthy love, platonic or otherwise, was like until I met you and saw you with Rebecca. You shaped my understanding of what love could be, what it looked like, what it felt like. And that’s why I wouldn’t be here right now without you.”

_“All your dreams are on their way—see how they shine?”_

“So thank you, Connie. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you enough. For a long time after my mom died, I didn’t feel like I had much of a family, or at least a family that was truly mine. But you and Rebecca gave me a family when I needed one the most, even if Rebecca will deny it.”

Connie laughs a little, but her eyes are shiny. Jillian is also tearing up for what feels like the millionth time tonight.

“You were there for me in some of my darkest moments, even when I tried to push you away. You supported me through everything. You mean more to me than words can express. I love you so goddamn much, Connie. Thank you. For everything.”

_“If you need a friend, I'm sailing right behind.”_

Jillian throws her arms around Connie and hugs her tightly as the song comes to an end. She hears the click of a camera shutter and it takes her a second to realize it isn’t in her head, but is the sound of a nearby Erika capturing the moment.

“I love you too, kid,” Connie says, voice thick.

Jillian releases her and beams. “Now it’s your wife’s turn.”

Connie chuckles and wipes her eyes as she tags Rebecca in (mumbling something as she passes that sounds suspiciously like “good luck”) and takes a seat.

Rebecca looks rightfully wary as she approaches. The opening melody of The Beatles’ _[In My Life](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-eCh3y5VROM)_  fades in and the corner of her mouth ticks.

“I picked a short song for you,” Jillian says. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep the feelings parade to a minimum.”

_“There are places I remember all my life, though some have changed.”_

Rebecca nods as they begin dancing. With Rebecca in heels, the height difference is comical. Jillian looks up at her, studies the angles of her cheekbones, the way her lips are pursed, the deep lines on her forehead from all the frowning she did in her youth. She’s looking at something over Jillian’s head. Her wife, maybe. Or Jillian’s.

_“All these places have their moments with lovers and friends I still can recall. Some are dead and some are living; in my life I've loved them all.”_

Rebecca looks down over the rims of her glasses to meet Jillian’s gaze. Her jawline is tensed, head on a slight tilt, eyes tired.

“Don’t you have a prepared speech?” she says, amused. “The song is halfway over.”

Jillian clears her throat. “Right. Yeah.”

_“But of all these friends and lovers, there is no one who compares with you.”_

She thinks about her speech, and as she thinks about it, her mouth spills over with unpracticed words instead.

“I was going to say a lot of things, actually,” she says. “I was going to reflect on how I marched into your office sixteen years ago and demanded that you be my mentor like the cocky shit I was.”

Rebecca raises her eyebrows with a sly twitch of her mouth.

_“And these memories lose their meaning when I think of love as something new.”_

“And I was going to say that you’ve become so much more than that. You’ve become family.”

Rebecca lifts her chin slightly.

_“Though I know I'll never lose affection for people and things that went before.”_

Jillian screws up her face and shakes her head. “But that’s wrong.”

“Is it?” Rebecca says, with just enough snark to round out the sentiment in that perfectly Rebecca way of hers.

Jillian flushes and looks away, across the dance floor, unable to continue looking at Rebecca. She feels tears beading at the corners of her eyes, and tries to focus her gaze on something safe so she won’t lose it.

_“I know I'll often stop and think about them.”_

When she speaks next, her voice shakes a little. “You _are_ family,” she says. “But you never stopped being my mentor. That’s what you are, Rebecca. You’re my mentor in every sense of the word.”

Rebecca makes a quiet noise, and Jillian resists the urge to look at her. She continues to fix her sight on the flower arrangement on one of the tables. Every time she blinks, it gets a little blurrier.

_“In my life I love you more.”_

“I’m a better person than I was when I met you,” Jillian says. “You shaped me into who I am today. You taught me everything. You gave me someone to look up to. You were the mentor I needed—a confident, queer, female nuclear engineer who took no shit, not from me or anyone else. You were unapologetic about who you were. You challenged my ideas about what was possible. You pushed me to find out what I was capable of. You never gave up on me, even when I made your life difficult.

“That day I walked into your office, you made a decision. You told me that it was my determination that changed your mind. You said I reminded you of Connie.”

“Yes.”

“I think that’s wrong, though. I think you said yes because I reminded you of yourself. I think you saw something in me. I think you still do.”

“Jillian…”

_“In my life I love you more.”_

“You saw that I needed someone like you. And I did.”

Jillian looks back up at Rebecca, finally, to see that her mentor is looking firmly in the opposite direction and biting her lip.

_“In my life I love you more.”_

“I’ve never known if you regretted it,” Jillian says quietly. “Saying yes, I mean. But I hope you don’t…because that moment, that decision…it changed my life, Rebecca. It really did.”

The song has long since ended. Rebecca looks down at her.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Jillian, there’s no need to cry.”

The irony of the thickness in Rebecca’s voice and the fact that she is very clearly trying not to cry herself makes Jillian smile.

“Everyone cries at weddings.”

“Not everyone.” Rebecca clears her throat briskly. “May I return to my seat, now?”

“Not until you tell me whether or not you regret agreeing to be my mentor.”

Rebecca huffs, a rare smile creeping onto her face. She angles her head so the other wedding-goers won’t see. “How could I ever regret you, Jillian?”

Jillian grins. “I’m going to hug you now.”

Rebecca grunts as Jillian squeezes her tightly.

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

“I am exceedingly proud of everything you have accomplished,” Rebecca says. “I appreciate you inviting me to your wedding. I imagine that is not a privilege most graduate mentors receive.”

Jillian laughs as she releases her. “I don’t think so, no.” She claps Rebecca on the shoulder. “There you go. You did it! You’re free to go back to your wife now.”

Rebecca presses her lips together and nods wryly before slipping away and heading back to her table. Jillian watches her go with a smile.

Erin joins her again. “How’d that go?”

Jillian wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “Perfectly.”

 

The reception carries on, their friends and family mingling and laughing and enjoying the beautiful summer night. Erin doesn’t mind at all that most of the guests are here for Jillian. She has everyone she cares about here, and that’s all that matters.

As the night winds down, she finds herself at the edge of the lake, staring out at the glassy surface and letting its serenity envelope her.

“Want to go kayaking?”

She starts and turns her head to see her wife sitting on a log behind her, no doubt staining her expensive white suit.

“In my wedding dress?” Erin laughs.

Jillian shrugs. “Why not? It’s a beautiful night.”

Erin’s heart thrums with adventure and all the endorphins that come with marrying the love of her life.

“Okay,” she says. “Let’s do it.”

After a kayak has been procured, Erin stands at the edge of the lake, water lapping her bare feet, her dress hiked up above her knees. Jillian’s blazer lays draped over the log she was sitting on, their shoes nestled in the sand in front of it. Her sleeves are rolled up past her elbows, her tie loosened around her neck. Water clings to the edges of her rolled-up pants as she wades the kayak out, knee-deep in the lake.

“Have y’all thought this through?” Patty says from behind them. They’ve gathered a small crowd.

“Please,” Abby says, “Holtz has never thought anything through in her life.”

Jillian pauses in her wading to salute Abby.

“What do you need?” Erin calls.

“Come get in,” Jillian replies.

Erin hesitates, then steps into the water. It’s warm around the edges but gets progressively colder as she sloshes through to reach Jillian and the kayak.

“I’ll hold it steady,” Jillian promises.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“When at camp…” Jillian sings. “Come on. Don’t bail on me now.”

With new determination, Erin gathers her dress in one arm and hoists it higher, then bends and (extremely ungracefully) climbs into the back of the kayak.

Jillian hoots. There’s distant clapping from the shore.

“Now you have to get in,” Erin says.

“Right. Of course,” Jillian says. “I’ll just…”

“Hold on, nerds, I’ve got you,” Abby shouts. Seconds later, she’s splashing through the water to get to them with no regard for her dress. There’s laughter from the shore. She reaches them and swaps out for Jillian, taking the paddles and holding the boat steady so she can climb in as well.

“This wasn’t as much of a production when we were kids,” Erin mutters.

Jillian grins brilliantly. “Isn’t that always the case?” She leans down to press a swift, firm kiss to Erin’s lips in a way that leaves her momentarily breathless, and then she gets into the kayak with practiced ease.

“Show-off,” Erin gasps out.

“Okay, lovebirds,” Abby crows, “I’ve waited a long time for this.” She passes the paddles into their hands. “Ready?”

“No—” Erin tries to say, only then Abby gives them a big shove that propels them forward into the lake. The laughter from their spectators turns to cheers.

“Bon voyage,” Abby calls after them. “Your life together awaits!”

“In the middle of the lake?” Erin calls back. Jillian chuckles in front of her.

They fall into a rhythm quickly. No unsynchronized paddling this time around. They move forward together, paddles cutting into the shimmering lake as the moon guides their path for them.

“Where are we going?” Erin says quietly. The lake is remarkably silent save for the sound of their paddles splashing into the water, the noise of their reception a distant hum.

“I have no idea,” Jillian says, and looks back over her shoulder with a smile. “It’s kind of better that way, isn’t it?”

Erin leans back against her seat and stops paddling for a moment just so she can appreciate the moment, the way Jillian’s hair falls along her shoulders, the soft pink of her lips, the shine of moonlight in her impossibly blue eyes.

“Yeah,” she says. “I think you’re right.”

Then she smiles and dips her paddle into the lake once again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said this was gonna be the epilogue? I changed my mind! One more section after this, THEN the epilogue. School and life got a little intense which is why this took me so long to post, but I'm on Christmas break now and will hopefully be able to finish the fic!! Lemme know what you thought! Fuel my motivation.
> 
> Side note, thank you to my ever-wonderful beta/GIRLFRIEND Jillian for editing! <3 (YEAH GUYS, IT FINALLY HAPPENED. WE'RE DATING. AH. this was really just an excuse to scream about that, whoops)
> 
> Merry Christmas, my dears! xo


	19. I'll give you all the love I never gave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A good time to once again acknowledge that Connie and the Dykes (including Max) belong to toastweasel. Thanks, Ty!

xi.

One day at the end of August, Jillian and Patty are out on a call. They drive all the way out to Scarsdale to investigate a possible haunting only to find out that it’s a bust (and not in a good way). They get a lot of calls like this.

When it comes to ghostbusting, Jillian finds that she and Patty make the best duo, which is why they often get sent out on calls like this. Jillian knows how to work the tech the best, and Patty always has all the intel on the location. Her ability to predict exactly what (or who) they’re dealing with is uncanny. It’s not like Erin and Abby don’t have their strengths in battle, too, but Jillian doesn’t work as well with them. When she works with Erin, they end up putting themselves at risk by getting distracted trying to protect each other. When she works with Abby, they bicker constantly about the best way to go about doing everything. Besides, Erin and Abby are usually deep into their research and would rather stick around at headquarters anyway, which is why it works out best for everyone when Jillian and Patty get sent out to respond to a call.

On the drive back from Scarsdale, Jillian sits in the passenger’s seat and lets her hand dangle out the window, soaking up the tail end of summer.

“You wanna grab something for lunch, baby?” Patty asks.

“You know it.”

They pull into a diner and slide into a booth by a window. A server takes their order and leaves. They wait.

“Don’t look now,” Patty says, “but that kid over there is star-struck as hell.”

Jillian glances over at a nearby table, where a short-haired woman sits with a young girl of about five, who’s watching them with wide eyes. The woman has a baby nestled in the crook of her elbow.

Jillian waves at the girl, and she lights up.

“I’m going to go say hi,” Jillian says. She slides out of the booth and saunters over to the table.

“I’m so sorry if my daughter is bothering you,” the woman says. “I told her not to stare, but—”

“Not at all,” Jillian says. “I came over to say hi.”

“Are you a Ghostbuster?” the little girl whispers.

Jillian crouches next to the girl’s chair. “I sure am. My name is Jillian.”

The girl points. “Is she a Ghostbuster?”

“Yeah! That’s Patty.” Jillian looks over her shoulder and motions for Patty to join her. “What’s your name?”

“Lena,” the girl says shyly.

Patty joins them. Lena seems in awe of her height.

“Do you believe in ghosts, Lena?” Jillian asks.

Lena nods solemnly. “I’m not scared of them, because I know you’re fighting them.”

“That’s right,” Patty says. “We keep everyone safe.”

Patty continues to talk to Lena while Jillian stands up.

“Sorry for intruding on your meal,” she says.

The woman shakes her head. “I’m sure this is making her entire week. I’m Jen.”

“Jillian. And who’s this?” she bends to get a better look at the baby.

“Quinn.”

“How old?”

“Seven weeks. We’re out of the house to give my wife a chance to rest.”

Jillian grins. “Excellent.” She touches the tip of her finger to the baby’s nose. “Hi, cutie.”

“You want to hold him?”

Jillian starts. “Are you sure?”

Jen nods.

Jillian cranes a little awkwardly to accept the baby into her arms, then straightens, a feeling of calm settling in. His pacifier falls out and she gently puts it back in. He looks so peaceful, eyes closed, tiny fingers splayed. Warm and small and solid.

She gets lost in the little rise and fall of his chest, doesn’t even hear what Patty is saying to Lena until she feels a hand on her shoulder.

“Our food’s here, Holtzy.”

Jillian swallows, looks at little Quinn, regretfully passes him back to Jen. She clears her throat.

“Thank you,” she says.

“Thank you for coming over to meet Lena,” Jen says.

“Of course,” Jillian says. “It was nice to meet you, Lena. Keep on being awesome and unafraid, alright?”

“I will,” Lena says.

“Good luck with the baby,” Jillian says to Jen. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Thank you. Have a good meal,” Jen says.

Jillian salutes as they walk away. Back at their table, she half-heartedly picks up her burger and studies it.

“You okay, baby?”

“Yeah,” she says quietly.

They don’t talk for the rest of their meal. Patty only breaks the silence once they’re back in the car.

“What’re you and Erin’s thoughts about kids?”

Jillian stares out the window at the passing scenery. “It’s complicated.”

“Does Erin not want them?”

“She does.”

“But?”

“There’s no but. We’re going to adopt. An older kid or two.”

“Ah,” Patty says, “and you want a baby.”

“No I don’t.”

Patty scoffs. “Sure.”

“What makes you think I want a baby? What would I do with a baby?”

“Come on, Holtzy, I saw you in there. You looked like you’d just discovered the key to the universe.”

Jillian’s face reddens. She cranks down the window of the hearse another inch and lets the breeze tangle with her hair. “It was just a baby.”

Patty sighs. “Fine, argue. You know Patty’s right. You want a baby.”

“I don’t want a baby,” Jillian says. Then, quieter, to herself, “Do I want a baby?”

Shit. She wants a baby.

 

Jillian has been acting weird ever since she got back from the bust in Scarsdale. Erin has tried to prod several times to figure out what’s going on, but she won’t admit that anything is wrong.

Erin even asked Patty if anything of note happened during the call, but all Patty had said was, quite cryptically, “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Erin sure hopes that’s the case.

 

“I wanna have a baby, Erin.”

There’s a long pause.

Jillian sighs and shakes her head, then squares up to try again. Her reflection in the mirror looks unimpressed.

“Erin, I want to have a baby.” She grits her teeth and runs a hand through her hair. “Erin, I think we should put a baby in me.” She makes a face. “Jesus. No.” She takes a deep breath. “Erin, I know this might be a little out of left field, but…I…”

“Want to have a baby?”

Jillian whips around, her heart completely stopping. There’s Erin, standing in the doorframe of the bathroom, face unreadable.

“You…you were supposed to be grocery shopping,” Jillian says, voice shaking.

“I forgot my list…” Erin says. “I called your name, but you didn’t respond, so I…came to…find you…Jillian?”

Jillian is panicking internally. How the hell is she supposed to play this? This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen. She was supposed to have _tact_.

“I was practicing lines for a play,” Jillian blurts.

“You’re not in a play,” Erin says.

“You don’t…know that…”

“Jillian.”

“Okay, I’m not.”

“What’s going on?”

“I…”

“Come here. Let’s sit.”

“I’m good.” Jillian is clutching onto the counter behind her, and she’s fairly certain that she’ll collapse if she steps away from it.

Erin offers a hand. “Come on.”

Jillian grimaces but takes it and lets Erin lead her out of the bathroom and onto the bed. Jillian sits on the edge and leans forward onto her elbows, covering her face with her hands. Erin gently pulls them away.

“You want to have a baby?” Erin prods. “Like, you want to adopt a baby?”

Jillian mumbles something unintelligible even to her own ears.

“You’re going to have to speak clearer, hon.”

“I want to _have_ a baby. Me,” Jillian mumbles.

Erin is quiet for several long moments. “You. You want to have a baby.”

“Yes,” Jillian says quietly.

“You do realize that means…that means you’d have to be…”

“Pregnant. Yeah, I know.”

“You don’t really seem…”

“Like the type?”

“Hey, _you’re_ the one who said you weren’t the pregnancy type, back when we first started talking about starting a family. Did you change your mind?”

“Nope. I’m still horrified at the prospect.” Jillian inhales, exhales. “But it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. I want a sure shot at the Holtzmann line living on after me. I’ve spent so much of my life destroying stuff. I want a chance to make something great.”

Erin lays a hand on her arm. “You’ve already made so many wonderful things, though. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Jillian pauses for a long second. “You don’t want us to have a baby.”

“I never said th—”

“You said you’d never been overly fond of young children.”

Erin hesitates. “You remember that. Crap.”

Jillian shoots her a look. Of course she remembers. “Listen, it’s fine. I still really want to adopt, and I still want to adopt older kids. We’ll just go ahead with our original plan and forget I ever suggested this anyway.” She laughs coldly. “Besides, it probably isn’t even possible. I’m already almost thirty-eight and I’ve spent so much time around radioactive matter that I probably don’t even have a functioning reproductive system anymore. It’s fine. I _know_ I’ll be just as fulfilled by adopting some kids and I’ll love them just as much as I would if I’d given birth to them. So it doesn’t matter. It was just…it was just a dumb idea.”

Erin sighs. “Jillian, let’s talk about this.”

“No, it’s f—”

“Don’t say that it’s fine.”

Jillian shuts up.

“I’m sorry,” Erin says, “you just caught me off guard. I feel like this is coming out of nowhere. But I’m not opposed to the idea, alright? Let’s just…talk more about it. What brought this on? When did you realize that you…wanted this? Or, let me rephrase, when did you realize that adopting wasn’t…enough?”

Jillian holds up her hand. “It’s not that adopting isn’t enough. Like I said, I’ll love our adopted children just as much as I’d love a biological child. They’ll be _our_ children no matter what. I have not a smidgen of doubt in my mind about that.”

“I don’t understand, then,” Erin says quietly.

Jillian screws up her eyes. “I don’t think I fully understand either. I just know that ever since we first started talking about having kids, I just…haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. And when you started talking about names and carrying on my mom’s legacy I just…got stuck with this idea of a kid like my mom, a kid who could be better than I ever was, who could do my mom proud…and as much as I would love adopted children, as much as they’d be a part of our family, they wouldn’t have that connection to my mom. And I could live without it—I swear I could, it wouldn’t change anything and I would never feel like there was something _missing_ —but I think I might just…wonder if I should have _tried_ , you know?”

“Tried to have a biological kid instead?”

“Tried to have a biological kid as _well_ ,” Jillian clarifies. “I told you, I still want to adopt regardless. There are so many kids out there who I want to give a home and loving family to. And if…” She exhales… “if I _were_ to try and it didn’t work out, I’d still be just as happy. I swear. I would never feel like I was ‘settling’ or something.”

Erin exhales, too. “Okay. So…where does that leave us?”

Jillian twists so she’s facing Erin. “That leaves us with you. I’ve told you what I want, but it’s not going to happen unless you want it, too. And _not_ just because you want me to be happy. I’ll be happy either way.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Jillian says. “I promise.”

Silence.

“Have you really thought everything through? About…you know, being pregnant? You wouldn’t be able to—you’d have to stop working, Jillian. Did you think about that?”

“I wouldn’t have to _stop_ …”

“You wouldn’t be able to do any of the work that you’re doing now. The whole lab is unsafe. You wouldn’t be able to go on calls. You could help Abby and I with the theory, I guess, or help Patty with her research.”

“I—” Jillian starts to argue, but stops herself. “I don’t care.”

“You don’t care.”

“No.”

“You, Jillian ‘Never Stopped Working a Day in Her Life’ Holtzmann, don’t care.”

Jillian pinks as she remembers, very clearly, an occasion where she stopped working _several_ days and lost her job because of it. She shakes the thought away. She doesn’t like thinking about the dark years. It hurts.

“I don’t care,” she repeats. “I want to do this. I’ve thought about it. I know what I’ll be giving up, but I also know what I’ll be gaining. I think six months of no work in exchange for a _child_ is a solid bargain.”

“Nine months,” Erin says. “You know that a pregnancy is nine months, right? It’s very important to me that you know that.”

Jillian rolls her eyes. “It’s less than a year. That’s all that matters.”

Erin falls silent, watching her. “Can I have some time to think about this?” she says quietly.

“Of course. Take as much time as you need. Although not too much time, because that good ole biological clock is ticking, y’know.” Jillian laughs nervously. “No, no, forget I said that. Seriously. As much time as you need. It’s…a big deal.”

Erin exhales. “Yeah. It is.”

 

Erin thinks about it.

She thinks about it a lot. She thinks about Jillian and how she wants to give her the entire world. She thinks about having a little baby, wild blonde hair and blue eyes, all fire and spirit and love, all the best parts of Jillian distilled and carried forward into the world.

She thinks about what else can be passed on, anger and sorrow and a reckless soul. Darkness so deep it seems like there might never be light again.

She realizes that that’s who Jillian is. All of it. All of it coming together to create a woman who Erin loves more than anything.

And that person, everything that Jillian is, that’s who Erin wants her kids to be.

It only takes a day. She finds Jillian in the spare bedroom, finding studs to hang new artwork, and leans against the wall there.

“What’s up?” Jillian says around the nails she’s holding in her teeth. She runs her homemade stud-finder along the wall.

Erin watches the red light flash, heart thudding in time. “How much do you have left?”

Jillian nods her chin at the waiting stack of paintings leaning against the wall at her feet. The stud-finder emits an awful buzzing noise and lights up green. Jillian hums in harmony, plucks a nail out from her teeth, holds the tip into the wall, swaps the stud-finder out for a hammer from her toolbelt.

Erin slips off the wall and takes a seat at the desk instead. She twists side-to-side in the swivel chair, her bare feet planted in the grey carpet.

“So,” she begins, at the same time that Jillian starts hammering. She quiets and waits.

The hammering stops. Jillian places the hammer back in her toolbelt and picks up one of the frames.

“So,” she tries again.

“Is this straight?” Jillian says at the same time.

Erin bites her lip. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“We’re no good at being straight,” Jillian jokes.

Erin smiles feebly at her back. “Don’t we have a level?”

“I broke it.” Jillian lifts the left end up higher. “I wanted to find out how it works, see if I could build one myself. The liquid stained one of the couch cushions, so I flipped it upside down so you wouldn’t see it. Although, I guess that effort was in vain because I’m telling you now, so—”

“I think you should have a baby,” Erin blurts.

The remaining nail in Jillian’s mouth falls to the carpet. “What?”

Erin repeats herself.

“Are you serious?” Jillian asks.

“Absolutely,” Erin says. “I support you 100% and will be by your side through every step of this process.”

Jillian carefully sets the painting back down on the floor and crosses the small room, taking Erin’s face in her hands. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Are you?”

Jillian nods. “I really am.”

“Alright,” Erin says. “Let’s do this, then.”

Jillian grins.

 

Everything moves fast, yet excruciatingly slow.

They spend September finding a donor. Highly educated, brown hair and blue eyes, anonymous. Jillian never knew the identity of her biological father, and she turned out just fine.

They opt for an ICI unwashed vial per Erin’s research and recommendation. They want to be able to do it at home.

“How the fuck do you wash sperm, anyway? What’s up with that?” Jillian asks.

“Let’s not think about it,” Erin says.

October is spent preparing for their first insemination attempt, which happens mid-month.

To Jillian’s disappointment, they don’t use an actual turkey baster. Erin says it’s probably for the best.

She’s supposed to spend 24 hours resting after doing the deed to increase her chances. She lays on the couch with her feet up on a stack of pillows and has a Star Wars marathon all day. Erin sits on the armchair in the corner (they both claimed to be sick to get out of work for the day) and reads articles on her laptop, occasionally piping up when she finds an interesting tidbit of information.

“Don’t give up if it doesn’t happen this month,” Erin says. “The success rate is only 10-15 percent per cycle.”

“You already mentioned that.”

“I just don’t want you to be disappointed,” Erin says.

Jillian’s period comes. She is disappointed. Indescribably so.

“Next month,” Erin promises.

They distract themselves with their research. Erin published a paper in September sharing some of their most recent findings, and it’s been gaining notice. All of them have been gaining notice. Their research is gathering momentum in the scientific community.

Erin wins an award.

A prestigious award. An award for a scientific discovery that’s expected to change the field of physics forever.

She gets a $50,000 cash prize, an extra $50,000 to put towards her research, and a medal, given to her in a ceremony in Washington, DC, at the end of October.

They all go. Jillian, Abby, Patty, and Kevin. Rebecca and Connie make the trip.

Jillian sits in the audience and watches Erin humbly accept the award and approach the microphone.

“I would just like to say what an incredible honour this is,” she says, voice shaking a little. “I’d like to thank my team, my Ghostbusting family. I want to thank Kevin Beckman, for bringing unwavering optimism to the lab. I want to thank Patty Tolan, for bringing balance and perspective to our team and being a voice of reason. I want to thank my best friend, Dr. Abby Yates, for believing in ghosts when nobody else did, even when the world told her that none of it was real. Even when _I_ told her that none of it was real. She’s always known the truth, and she’s never backed down, and without her I wouldn’t be standing here today.

“And finally, I would like to thank my wife, Dr. Jillian Holtzmann, for turning my ideas into reality, for supporting me unconditionally, and for never giving up on me. I owe so much to you. I love you.”

Applause. Jillian sniffles.

“And to all those kids out there who are being told that they’re wrong. That they’re crazy. All those kids who are being bullied and teased and who feel like the world is against them and nobody cares what they have to say. I hope you find people who lift you up and believe in you and make you feel like a superhero, so you can stand on a stage like this one day and share your ideas with the world. I want you to know that I believe in you. I _believe_ you. I want to hear your ideas and what you have to say. And if you keep pushing, keep running towards the truth instead of away from it, keep fighting for what you believe, then you will change the world. Thank you.”

That gets the auditorium on their feet.

When Erin returns to her seat, Jillian pulls her in close and kisses her hard and leans in to whisper in her ear.

“You made it, Ghost Girl.”

 

November rolls in, and as it does, so does their next chance at conceiving.

They do the insemination on a Saturday, and then Jillian fakes a stomach flu on Monday so she can spend several days taking it easy. Patty and Abby express concern about the number of days the two of them have called in sick in the past few months. Erin tells them that it’s nothing to worry about.

She can tell Jillian is freaking out a bit, worried that it’s not going to happen this month either, but she tries to distract her. They discuss how Jillian should probably not go in to the lab as long as there’s a chance that she _is_ pregnant, so they buy a drafting table and set it up in the spare room so Jillian can at least work on designing equipment. She already seems a little miserable at the prospect of not being able to get her hands dirty, so Erin is worried about what will happen if she _is_ pregnant and has to do this for nine months.

But she doesn’t say anything, because there’s no use worrying about it until they know.

 

Jillian is already going a little stir crazy, partly because she just wants to _know_.

She keeps working. She starts completely redesigning their packs to work out some of the issues that they’ve been having over the last few months.

Patty and Abby ask questions. They don’t understand why she’s taking a break from the lab to work from home. She’s pretty sure they’re convinced that she’s terminally ill or something. She tries to reassure them. Abby still calls frequently. Even Rebecca and Connie phone and check in, which leads her to believe that they’re still communicating with Abby. Some things never change.

She tries not to think too hard about what may or may not be growing inside of her right now. She lets Erin do all the research so she can be the one who understands everything. Erin wants to understand the science behind it. Jillian doesn’t want to know the gory details.

They wait.

 

At the very end of November, everything changes.

Erin hangs up the phone a little numbly and makes her way to the spare room, which is overrun with drafting paper tacked up against every surface. Jillian is hunched over the table, sketching madly, drafting pencil in hand, #2 pencil poking out of her hair, ball point pen tucked over her ear.

“Hey,” Erin says, but it comes out squeaky.

Jillian doesn’t turn. “Hey. I think I worked out the kinks with this thing by halving the size of it and doubling the power.”

Erin comes up behind her, dodges the #2 pencil to kiss the top of her head. “Is it killing you that you aren’t building it right now?”

“Immensely.” Jillian sets the drafting pencil down and swivels in her chair. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Who was on the phone?”

“Um…” Erin glances down at the drafting paper, squints at the design. “Harvard.”

“Harvard the school or Harvard the man?”

“There’s a man named Harvard?”

“There’s a man named everything.”

“Oh.”

“So which one was it?”

“Harvard the school.”

“What’d they want?”

“Me,” Erin says. “They want me.”

That gets Jillian’s attention. She stands from her chair slowly, pen falling from behind her ear. “For what?”

“They want me to develop a paranormal studies program. They want me to base my research out of Harvard. _Harvard_. Wants me.”

Jillian’s mouth falls open. “Erin! Holy shit!”

“I can’t take it, obviously, but—”

“Why not?”

“Because…it’s Harvard? I would never ask you to move to another state for me when our whole life is here.”

“My whole life isn’t here,” Jillian says. “Are you forgetting that Boston was a dear home to me for many years?”

“Well, no, but—”

“I would move back to Boston in a heartbeat, Erin. This sounds like the opportunity of a lifetime.”

“Jillian, we can’t just _move_. What about the Ghostbusters?”

“What about them? We’ll continue our research. Abby and Patty will continue their research. Think realistically about this—when was the last time we went on an _actual_ bust? Give me one solid argument for the Ghostbusters staying together.”

“Loyalty,” Erin mutters. “Abby would never go for it.”

“It’s not Abby’s life,” Jillian says gently. “This research is bigger than us. If you have the chance to continue it at _Harvard_ and teach a generation of new scientists what we’ve uncovered, you could change the world.”

“I like our life here,” Erin says quietly.

Jillian sits down on the edge of the bed and pats the duvet beside her. Erin reluctantly sits down.

“Do you really not want to do it?” Jillian asks.

“It’s not about what I want,” Erin says. “I’ve had enough selfishness in my life. Now it’s about what’s best for us and our family, and what’s best for us and our family is staying here.”

“How do you know that?”

Erin falls silent. She doesn’t have an answer for that.

She reaches out, rests her hand on Jillian’s flat, unchanged abdomen. Inside, there might be a blastocyst, and there might be nothing. Schrodinger’s blastocyst.

“He said they would pay for a trip to Boston for us. To tour around Harvard’s facilities and see if we’d like living in the area.”

“Well, shit,” Jillian says, twisting and shifting so she’s facing Erin. Erin retracts her hand. “We’re going to see Rebecca and Connie in less than a month anyway. Might as well take a look around and have Mr. Harvard pay for our trip.”

“We’ve both lived in Boston before,” Erin reminds her. “We know what it’s like.”

“I’ve never been to Harvard before, though,” Jillian says. “Come on, it’s not committing to anything.”

Erin sighs. “Fine. That’s all, though. One trip to Harvard. I’m not taking the job.”

 

A few days later, Jillian’s period doesn’t come.

This isn’t the most unusual—it’s never been very regular—but that doesn’t mean she’s not freaking out.

“Jillian?” Erin’s head ducks under the kitchen table, where Jillian is sitting with her knees pulled to her chest.

“Yeah?”

“Maybe you should take a test instead of hiding under the table.” Erin pulls one of the two sealed boxes from a drugstore bag and sets it down on the floor, nudging it towards Jillian with her toe.

Jillian stares at it for a long second and wraps her arms tighter around her knees. “I don’t wanna,” she says childishly.

There’s a pause, and then Erin crawls under the table as well. Jillian moves over so there’s room. Erin rests her hand on Jillian’s arm.

“I’m scared, Erin,” Jillian says.

“I know,” Erin says. “It’ll be okay.”

“What if it’s negative?”

“What if it’s positive?” Erin counters.

Jillian falls silent, stares at the box some more.

“Tomorrow morning,” she says finally.

 

Erin sits on the bed and watches the closed bathroom door. “How’s it going?”

Silence.

She stands up. Knocks on the door. “Jillian?”

“Hold your ponies.”

She waits. A few seconds later, the door opens. Jillian is holding an empty glass in both hands with the test sticking out of it. Their toothbrushes have been re-homed to the counter.

Jillian pushes past her and goes to sit on the edge of the bed, still clutching the glass like it’s a cup of coffee on a cold day. Erin sits beside her.

“You think it’s like a kettle?” Jillian murmurs.

“I don’t know. Why don’t we stop watching it just to cover our bases?”

Jillian hums and looks up at the ceiling. Erin watches her.

“How do you feel?”

Jillian hums again. “Like I might have a parasite growing in me that also might not exist.”

“That’s fair.”

Jillian checks her watch and sighs.

“Would you really be okay with moving to Boston?” Erin says to distract her.

“Of course,” Jillian says. “I have friends there. I have Rebecca and Connie there. There’s more for me there than there is here.” She pauses. “Would you?”

“I don’t know,” Erin answers honestly. “Boston has a lot to offer. So does New York.”

“A brand new program, though,” Jillian reminds her. “That’s something that New York can’t give you.”

“I’m happy with my work here,” Erin says. She glances at the stick, then back at Jillian. “What if you’re pregnant?”

Jillian cocks her head.

“Would that change anything?” Erin elaborates. “Would you still want to go?”

“Why not?” Jillian lifts the glass like she’s toasting without taking her eyes off the ceiling. “The parasite could come with.”

“Would moving states while starting a family _really_ be the best thing, though? Think of the stress…”

“Erin, I’d be off work anyway. It would actually be a _better_ time. I’m not leaving a job here and I wouldn’t have to worry about finding something there right away.”

“Yeah, but…” Erin huffs. “I don’t know.”

“Well,” Jillian says, “we don’t have to think about that yet. I might not be pregnant.”

“Yeah…” Erin blinks… “or you might be.”

Jillian is still staring at the ceiling. “I guess. I have a feeling that I’m not.”

Erin shakes her arm.

“What?”

Erin points.

Jillian stares.

“There are two lines,” Jillian says.

“There are two lines,” Erin repeats.

Jillian swivels. “Erin. There are two lines.”

“Jillian.”

“Erin.”

“You’re…”

“With parasite.” Jillian looks down at her stomach, then back up at Erin, eyes wide.

“Oh my God.”

Jillian looks like she can’t form words. Erin wraps her hand around her wrist to calm her.

They sit in stunned silence for a bit, staring at the test poking out of the glass.

“It’s the size of a poppy seed,” Erin says quietly.

“The parasite?” Jillian says in horror.

“The embryo,” Erin says. “Two layers. Epiblast and hypoblast. The size of a poppy seed.”

“A poppy seed? How the fuck am I supposed to protect a poppy seed in there? It could get lost! It could fall out!”

“It’ll be okay,” Erin says.

“Alright.” Jillian exhales loudly. “Yeah. It’ll be okay.”

“Do you still want to go to Boston for Christmas?” Erin asks after a pause.

Jillian gives her a look.

Erin holds up her hands. “Okay, okay. We’ll go.”

Jillian nods.

They sit in silence for a few more minutes.

“Come on, though, a _poppy seed?!_ ”

 

They go to Boston on December 17th, like planned.

Harvard’s facilities are gorgeous.

Their host, Jeffery, talks up the opportunity, but it barely needs shining. It would be, like Jillian said already, the chance of a lifetime for Erin. As they walk around and Jeffery tells them about what the job would entail, Jillian can tell that Erin is warming to the idea.

A brand new department, shaped by Erin. State of the art equipment and funding beyond their wildest dreams to take their research to new heights. At _Harvard_.

This would change the face of academia forever. A new science inducted into the precious world that Erin covets so much.

They would pay for their relocation, too, and find them suitable accommodations. They would take care of everything. Erin could start in the new year.

After their tour, Jeffery bids them farewell and says Erin can take as much time as she needs to think it over. The two of them take some time walking around the city before they go back to Rebecca and Connie’s. Jillian breathes in the air of Boston and decides she’s missed it. When Erin isn’t listening, she whispers to the embryo (which she’s nicknamed Poppy even though it’s the size of a lentil now) that this is going to be their home.

She takes Erin to some of her old haunts, her favourite places. When Erin lived here, she didn’t leave her apartment much, Jillian learns. She never got to see all that the area can offer.

Erin still seems resistant. She’s still fighting it.

They go back to Rebecca and Connie’s eventually. Jillian won’t give up. She has a feeling about this.

 

They’re slated to attend a small holiday get-together at Max and Sam’s place with Rebecca, Connie, and all their friends, many of whom were at their wedding. Erin doesn’t fully feel like they’re her friends, too, but Jillian has known them all for a very long time, so they go.

Erin mostly keeps to herself, sticking close to the food while Jillian makes the rounds. More than once, she meets Rebecca’s eyes across the room, and she looks just as uncomfortable despite knowing the rest of the guests well.

Erin is making friends with the veggie platter when a short teenage girl with dark curly hair and a maroon sweater slips into the room and grabs a plate. She must be one of the foster kids, the ones Max and Sam have had staying with them since before the wedding.

“Hi,” Erin says.

The girl’s eyes dart up as she mumbles a greeting in return, then she seems to do a double take.

“Dr. Erin Gilbert?”

Erin jolts and straightens, her hand pulling back from the baby carrot she was about to pick up. “Yes?”

“Oh my God, it _is_ you,” the girl says, her mouth falling open. “You’re a Ghostbuster. You and your wife, Dr. Jillian—”

“Holtzmann,” comes her wife’s voice beside her as Jillian materializes at her elbow out of nowhere. She extends her hand. “And who are you?”

The girl, clearly flustered, shakes Jillian’s hand. “I can’t believe this. I mean, Max and Sam mentioned that they knew some of the Ghostbusters, but they didn’t say that you’d _be_ here. Wow. My brother is going to _freak_ when he finds out.”

“Is he here?” Jillian says conversationally.

The girl shifts in place. “Yeah. He’s upstairs. He won’t come down when there’s this many people.”

Max and Sam had prepped them upon their arrival that one of the kids is autistic and is perfectly happy with this many people in the house as long as it doesn’t get too loud. The volume level of the party has remained in check ever since.

“Would he want to meet us if we went upstairs?” Erin says.

The girl bobs her head eagerly. “I bet he would. I’ll go ask him.” She sets her empty plate down and darts away, then steps back. “I’m Laura, by the way.”

They glance at each other and smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, Laura,” Jillian says.

The girl beams and disappears down the hallway.

Jillian snags the carrot that Erin was going to eat and pops it in her mouth.

“How are you feeling?” Erin says quietly after checking to make sure nobody is within hearing distance. Jillian has been experiencing major mood swings the past few days. Hormones.

Jillian shrugs. “Okay. Connie offered me a beer and I had to lie and say that I’ve stopped drinking because of how it mixes with my meds. She seemed surprised but proud.”

“Good call.”

It’s killing both of them that they have to wait until the end of the first trimester to tell everyone. With Jillian the age that she is, she’s at a higher risk for complications, and as with any pregnancy there are a million things that could go wrong. Erin knows, because she’s been reading about all of them.

That being said, Erin isn’t entirely confident that Jillian will be able to keep from telling Rebecca and Connie while they’re here.

The girl, Laura, shows up at the door, clearly breathless from having run up and down the stairs. “Will wants to meet you.”

Jillian sets her plate down and cracks her knuckles. “Excellent!”

 

The room they enter is mostly dark, curtains drawn over the window, the only light coming from a lamp in the corner. That’s where a young boy with wild curly hair that matches his sister’s is curled up in an armchair, face an inch away from the book in his hands.

“Will,” Laura says, “the Ghostbusters are here.”

“I have to finish,” Will says.

“The page,” Laura clarifies to them.

They wait.

Will closes the book and sets it carefully on the short table beside his chair, then he gets up and considers them.

“Are you the Ghostbusters?”

“We are,” Jillian says. “I’m Jillian and—”

“Dr. Jillian Holtzmann.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Jillian says with a smile.

“And I’m Dr. Erin Gilbert,” Erin says.

“Do you like superheroes, Dr. Holtzmann and Dr. Gilbert?”

They exchange a glance, both of their minds clearly going to Ghost Girl and Reptilian Jillian. Jillian grins. “We love superheroes. Do you?”

“Yes,” Will says, and nods fast. “My favourite superhero is Superman. Who is your favourite superhero?”

“Gotta be Wonder Woman,” Jillian says.

“She’s good,” Will concurs. “Who’s your favourite superhero, Dr. Gilbert?”

“Uh…Batman?”

“Batman isn’t a superhero. He doesn’t have any superpowers.”

“Yeah, Erin,” Jillian says merrily, “Batman isn’t a superhero.”

Erin frowns. “He saves people, though.”

“Batman is a hero,” Will says. “Batman isn’t a superhero. He doesn’t have any superpowers.”

“Okay, then. Spiderman?”

Will nods quickly again. “Spiderman is good.”

Jillian likes this kid. She looks around the room, a warm feeling spreading in her chest. There’s a bookshelf neatly crammed with comic books. Hundreds of them. “That’s a lot of comics, buddy.”

“I like reading comic books,” Will says. “I like superheroes. Do you like reading comic books, Dr. Holtzmann?”

“I do,” she says. “One time I even drew a comic book.”

“I draw comics, too,” Laura says shyly.

“No kidding?” Jillian says excitedly.

“I draw them for Will, everything but superheroes. He won’t let me draw superheroes.”

“That’s so cool,” Erin says.

“I read all the comic books,” Will says. “Max and Sam take me to the comic book store. Do you know all the superheroes? I know all the superheroes.”

“I bet I know some that you don’t,” Jillian says with a smile.

“I know all the superheroes.”

“Have you heard of Ghost Girl and Reptilian Jillian?”

There’s a pause. “Those aren’t real superheroes.”

“Sure they are,” Jillian says. “They’re as real as every other superhero.”

“Are there comic books about them?”

“There’s one.”

“I want to read it.”

Jillian grins. “I’ll find a copy for you.”

“Hey, Will,” Laura says. “The Ghostbusters are kinda like real-life superheroes, right?”

Will shakes his head. “You don’t have any superpowers. You are heroes, like Batman.”

“We’re like Batman, huh?” Jillian says contemplatively. “You know what, I’m honoured to be in his company, even if he isn’t a superhero.”

“How old are you, Will?” Erin asks.

“I am six years, four months, and twenty-four days old.”

Jillian does the math quickly. “July 27th, 2013?”

Will bobs his head. “That is my birthday.”

July 2013. The month she had her episode and needed to be hospitalized.

Nice to know that something good happened that month.

“What about you, Laura?” Erin asks conversationally.

“I’m fifteen.”

“You two have been living with Max and Sam since June, right?” Erin says.

Jillian glances over in time to see Laura’s face cloud. “Yeah.”

“Do you like living here?” Jillian asks carefully.

“Max and Sam are nice,” Laura says. There’s a pause. “But they’re not forever.”

Forever.

Something stirs deep inside Jillian. A gut feeling, a premonition, the last puzzle piece clicking into place. Like the universe’s way of nudging her.

How many times have Erin and Jillian talked about forever?

Back when they were looking at the Adoption Album, she never felt anything close to this. This feels like a sign. It feels _right_. It feels like these kids have been waiting here patiently to be found. She’s only spent five minutes with them, and she can already see them slotting into her and Erin’s life like they had been there all along.

The feeling is so sudden, so startling, that all she can do is blink.

Will has clearly grown bored of the conversation and has returned to reading. Laura steps outside and Erin and Jillian follow her lead after saying goodbye to Will.

“Thank you for meeting him,” Laura says quietly as they head back downstairs. “I know he can be a little different, but—”

“He’s wonderful,” Jillian says sincerely. “Thank you for introducing us.”

Laura smiles, but it’s a little sad. Jillian’s heart pulls. She needs to know more about them. She needs to talk to Erin and see if she’s feeling the same way.

They re-join the party downstairs. Laura gets some food and heads back upstairs. Erin and Jillian retrieve their plates.

They find Rebecca standing in the corner of the den. She nods her chin at them as they join her.

“You disappeared,” she comments.

“We were upstairs with the kids,” Erin says.

“Do you know much about them?” Jillian asks casually. Erin gives her a look.

“Not much,” Rebecca says. “They have been with Max and Sam since June.”

“Yeah, we knew that.” Jillian pauses. “What was their story before that? Have they been in foster care for long? Why are they in foster care?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Rebecca says. “I do believe that is confidential information.”

Jillian sulks. “Well, yeah. Fine.”

Erin taps her on the arm. “Hey, can I talk to you out in the hall?”

Jillian offers Rebecca a feeble smile and follows Erin to the hallway. “What’s up?” Jillian says.

“What are you doing?” Erin says.

“I was just…curious.”

“Curious.”

“She seemed so sad, Erin.”

“I know.”

“And that kid, Will…what a cool little dude. Did you see that comic collection?”

“They’re good kids, Jillian, I know.”

“It’s more than that, though, I want to—I want to help them.” It’s an understatement, but she’s not sure where Erin’s head is at.

“Max and Sam are taking good care of them,” Erin reminds her.

“You heard her, though. It’s not forever. We could give them forever, Erin. And they’re crazy about _superheroes!_ What are the chances? Don’t you think that’s a sign?”

“Lots of kids like superheroes.”

“Erin.” It comes out as a whine.

“What?”

“I felt…something.”

“Jillian, you’re—” Erin drops her voice— “pregnant. There are a _lot_ of hormones running wild in your body right now. I’m sure you’re feeling a lot of things.”

“Erin.”

“I know,” Erin says quietly in resignation. “I felt it, too.”

“You did?”

“I can’t even explain it.”

“No, neither can I.”

They stare at each other in silence.

“We can’t adopt them,” Erin says softly.

“Why not?”

Erin looks at her. “Do I really need to explain?”

“Yes.”

“Jillian. We’re starting our family.”

“Exactly.”

“The plan was to keep adoption on hold until after the baby is born and we’ve settled.”

“We never decided that.”

Erin huffs. “I thought it was implied. Whatever. Regardless, we still can’t. We could never uproot them from their lives. They’re old enough that it would hurt to move. That’s why we decided to go with in-state adoption only, remember?"

“Did you forget that we’ve been considering moving here anyway? What bigger sign is there than that?”

“We don’t know anything about them,” Erin protests. “They might not want to be adopted. Or for all we know, they could be in the process of being adopted right now.”

“Do you really believe that?” Jillian says quietly.

Erin sighs. “No. My point stands, though. We don’t know anything about them.”

Jillian zeros in on Max exiting the bathroom down the hall. “I think we could find out.”

 

Max, after they flag her down, confirms that she can’t release any confidential information about the kids. When they lower their voices at tell her that they’re interested in learning more for the sake of potentially adopting them, she looks rightfully surprised but says that they can get in touch with the kids’ social worker.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Erin warns Jillian. “We’re just…investigating.”

Erin doesn’t stop thinking about the kids until long after they’ve left Max and Sam’s place, and she can tell that Jillian is still thinking about them, too. The last few days of their visit with Rebecca and Connie is a blur.

On the train back to New York on Christmas Eve, Erin finally breaks the silence.

“What are you thinking?”

“About what?”

Erin taps her fingertips on her legs nervously. “Boston. Harvard. The…kids. Everything.”

“It’s your career,” Jillian reminds her. “What are _you_ thinking?”

Erin fidgets, stalls. “It’s an incredible opportunity.”

“Yeah. It is.”

“You like Boston,” Erin says, seeking confirmation.

“I do. I love Boston. I always have. I’d love to start a family in Boston.”

“The Ghostbusters, though,” Erin says, pained. “Can you imagine what Abby would say?”

“It’s our life,” Jillian says gently.

“I know.”

Jillian shifts closer, captures her hands to stop her from fidgeting. “What’s stopping you from saying yes?”

“I don’t know,” Erin admits. “The risk? Wondering if it would be the right thing to do? Feeling like it would be selfish to take it? Knowing I’d miss our friends and the job I have now? Worrying that it’s a trap?”

“Alright,” Jillian says, “fair enough. How about this: what’s making you consider saying yes? What are you drawn to about it?”

Erin clenches and unclenches her teeth. “Off the top of my head? The chance to inspire a generation and leave a mark in the academic world. Being able to take you back to Boston where you can be closer to Rebecca and Connie. The pay. The new challenge. The prestige. The adventure. This new development with those kids and the potential for something there. The fact that you seem really keen about the opportunity.”

Jillian gives a half-smile. “I don’t have to point out that that list was longer, right? Obviously, you have some valid concerns and reasons to not want to go—and believe me, I’m right there with you when it comes to moving on from the Ghostbusters and saying goodbye to Abby and Patty and Kevin. It would be really, _really_ hard. But I think it could also be great. I don’t want the thing holding you back to be fear. We’ll figure it out, whatever happens. If it doesn’t work out, we’ll figure it out. It could be the best decision we ever make in our life, but we’ll never know if we don’t take it, right?”

Erin exhales. “Right.”

“Besides, it could never be the worst decision of your life.”

“How do you know?”

Jillian smiles, and Erin thinks it’s probably supposed to look smug, but it just comes off sad. “Because I’ve lived through the worst decision of your life.”

Erin swallows and bows her head.

By the time they get back to New York, her mind is made up.

Christmas morning is small and quiet, just the two of them. Then, in the evening, they have Abby, Patty, and Kevin over for Christmas dinner at their place. It’s the perfect set-up for the news they have to deliver.

When all their bellies are full and they’ve relaxed into easy chatter, Erin exchanges a glance with Jillian.

“So, we have an announcement,” she says.

Everyone falls quiet. Jillian bumps her shoulder in encouragement.

Erin takes a deep breath. “I’ve accepted a job offer from Harvard. I start on January 6th.”

Silence.

“What?” Patty says. “Like, Harvard-Harvard?”

“Harvard-Harvard,” Jillian confirms. “My wife’s a genius.”

Erin blushes. “I couldn’t turn it down. I get to create a brand new program in paranormal studies.”

“But…Harvard’s in Massachusetts…” Patty says slowly. “Are y’all moving?”

Erin hesitates, then nods. “We are. I’m sorry to spring it on you with such short notice but this all happened really suddenly.”

Patty blinks. “No, that’s…that’s incredible, Erin. Man. What an opportunity.”

“Congratulations, Erin!”

“Thanks, Kevin.”

“Can we just hold up for a hot goddamn second?” Abby says.

Erin steels herself. “Abby…”

“No, you don’t get to talk. What the _fuck_ , you guys? _Boston?_ ”

“It’s the job of a lifetime, Abby,” Jillian says quietly.

“ _This_ is the job of a lifetime. We have the best job in the world, and you’re going to leave it all behind for _Harvard?_ I thought you were past this crap, Erin!”

“I’m not _leaving,_ Abby, not like that. Come on, imagine if you were offered this opportunity…”

“I don’t have to imagine. You know what happened six months ago? Yale offered me a research position. _Yale_. And you know what? I turned them down. For this team. For the Ghostbusters. You know why? _I_ would never abandon this team.”

“Jesus, Abby,” Jillian says. “This isn’t abandonment. This is a chance to make a huge impact on the world of science forever. Erin has a chance to turn this into a practiced science. She’d be educating generations of brilliant minds so they could continue on with our research like never before. Don’t you want that?”

“I want you to stay here.”

“I want to stay here, too, Abby,” Erin says. “Jillian had to push me to say yes. The thought of moving on from the Ghostbusters to something else is killing me, but she’s right; it’s the chance of a lifetime. The chance to leave our mark on the scientific community forever.”

“We’ve already left our mark. Holtz, I can’t believe you’re endorsing this.”

“She’s not leaving,” Jillian repeats.

Erin feels queasy.

“It’s easy for you to say—you’re going with her this time,” Abby snaps.

“Let’s all chill out for a second,” Patty says.

“I told you she wouldn’t accept it,” Jillian mutters. “It’s not enough. We need to tell them about the A-D-O—”

“They can spell, Jillian,” Erin says sharply.

The table falls silent.

“The what?” Abby says.

Erin thinks fast. “The, uhh…the ado…rable dog that we saw in Boston when we were there.”

“Oh, that’s brilliant!” Kevin says excitedly. “Mike just had puppies.”

“That’s not what you were going to say,” Patty says.

Jillian shoves her empty plate practically into the centre of the table. Erin glances at her. She looks pale.

“No, it was,” Erin insists, stalling.

Jillian rests her forehead on the table.

“Can someone explain what the fuck is going on?” Abby says.

“Nope,” Jillian says suddenly, scraping back her chair and running off before anyone can even flinch.

Erin watches her run down the hallway and into the closest bathroom. The door slams shut.

She looks back at their guests. Everyone is staring at the closed door.

“Uh…” Abby says.

There’s the unmistakable sound of vomiting from behind the door.

Erin throws her napkin on the table and pushes back her own chair. “Stomach flu,” she lies quickly. “I should check on her.”

She leaves before anyone can say anything.

She lets herself into the bathroom after a knock on the door. Jillian is sitting on the tile, arms wrapped comically around the toilet like a cartoon character.

“Lemme tell you, that turkey was moist the first time around, but now it is _definitely—_ ”

“Please don’t finish that sentence.”

“Fair enough.”

Erin squats and rubs Jillian’s back while pointedly turning her head away. “So, that could’ve gone better.”

“I think they might be a little suspicious.”

“Maybe a little.” Erin sighs. “Why’d you convince me to take this job? We knew this would happen.”

“I mean, we didn’t know that Poppy was going to make me throw up at Christmas dinner.”

“Why do you keep calling her Poppy when she’s the size of a blueberry now?”

“Why did you just call it a her?”

“Because you chose a feminine name for it.”

“Flowers have no gender and neither does an embryo. Besides, people call their grandfathers ‘Poppy.’” Jillian punctuates that claim by throwing up again.

Erin wrinkles her nose. “Sorry. You’re right. Poppy has no gender.”

Silence. Erin stands up and turns the fan on, then crouches again. “Can I do anything?”

“Invent time travel and fast forward eight months,” Jillian suggests. “Come up with a way to fix that whole disaster that just unfolded out there.” She pauses. “Oh, and get me a glass of water.”

“I can do the last one,” Erin promises. “I’ll work on the other two.”

She slips out and walks quickly past the dining room to the kitchen.

“Is she okay?” Patty asks.

“She’s fine,” Erin calls over her shoulder as she fills up a glass of water. “She’ll be back out soon. She’s been fighting off this bug for weeks now.”

“What kind of bug?” Abby says.

_A parasite_ , Erin thinks. “Just a stomach thing. It’s fine.”

“Doesn’t seem fine,” Patty mutters as Erin leaves.

Back in the bathroom, Jillian is standing and has flushed the toilet. Erin hands her the glass of water, and she sips at it and leans on the counter.

“You good?”

“I’m good,” Jillian says. “How’s the peanut gallery?”

“I don’t know what to say to them.”

Jillian interlaces her fingers and stretches her hands in front of her. “I’m on it.”

They re-join the table.

“Sorry about that,” Jillian says.

“Holtzy, you’d tell us if something was wrong, right? Are you sick, baby?”

“Frequently, yes.”

Erin elbows her. “It’s nothing serious.”

“I’m starting to think I might be developing a food allergy,” Jillian says smoothly. “I haven’t figured out what it could be yet, though. Fingers crossed it’s not gluten, or I might as well die now, am I right?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Abby asks.

“Absolutely,” Jillian says.

“Great. In that case, let’s get back to arguing about you moving.”

“It’s happening, Abby,” Erin says gently. “I’ve already accepted the offer. They’re setting me up with temporary housing. I leave on the 3rd.”

“I’m going to stick around here for a while and get our stuff ready to be moved,” Jillian says. “You haven’t gotten rid of me just yet.”

Abby sits back in her chair. “There’s nothing I can say that will change your guys’ mind.”

“No,” Erin says. “I’m so sorry, Abby. I’m going to miss this more than you know.”

“I’m just going to miss you,” Abby says.

Jillian’s voice is pained. “We’re going to miss you, too.”

“Alright, now,” Patty says. “Group hug. Come on.”

They get up and circle around to the other side of the table, where they do just that.

“I’m going to miss you nerds,” Patty says. “It’s been an incredible two years.”

They all echo concurring sentiments.

They return to their seats. Jillian lifts her water glass.

“Cheers to the Ghostbusters,” she says. “May we live on forever in our hearts and in the work that we carry forward.”

“To the Ghostbusters,” everyone repeats, picking up their respective glasses and toasting.

And when Erin sips from her glass, she feels the end of an era reverberate in the apartment.

 

The week after Christmas is a chaotic nightmare while Erin tries to prepare to move. She forces Jillian to sit on the couch, saying that it’s bad enough that she’s going to be left alone to pack up the rest of the house while pregnant.

Jillian doesn’t argue (that much). She sits on the couch with Poppy and helps when she can.

New Year’s Eve coincides with the beginning of Week Eight, which means Poppy is now the size of a kidney bean and Jillian is bogged down with fatigue. Despite eating four leftover candy canes for the sugar boost, she falls asleep by nine and Erin has to wake her up a few minutes before midnight to ring in 2020.

Their first two days of the new year are spent finishing off last-minute preparations for Erin’s departure. Jillian has her first doctor’s appointment booked for Friday morning, and then Erin’s flight is in the afternoon.

“What if there’s a problem with Poppy?” Jillian worries.

“Then we’ll deal with it.” Erin comes over to where Jillian is sitting and brushes back her hair. “You and Poppy are my priority. Harvard can wait.”

Jillian kisses her.

They go to the appointment. Erin somehow found time to do research, so she comes prepared with a list of questions and everything the doctor needs, including information about Jillian’s medications and medical history.

Jillian sits on the examination table in her doctor’s office after the physical exam and urine sample. She sucks on the grape lollipop that she swiped from the jar on the counter and taps her fingers against the crinkly paper beneath her.

The doctor comes back into the room with a clipboard. Jillian pulls the sucker from her mouth with an obnoxious pop.

“Well, you’re definitely pregnant,” the doctor says.

Jillian gives her a thumbs up.

The doctor calculates her due date to be around August 11th. So soon and yet so far away. Jillian half-listens as the doctor and Erin talk about a billion things that are apparently important. She trusts Erin to remember everything. If not her, then the notebook she’s filling.

At the end of the appointment, her doctor bids them farewell and wishes them luck.

“Well, that went well,” Erin says as they leave the office.

Jillian bursts into tears.

Erin stops dead in the middle of the sidewalk and touches her arm. “Jillian? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Jillian weeps, fully aware that a) She’s causing a scene and 2) She’s definitely overreacting. Oh, hormones.

Erin wraps her arms around her. “I’ll see you again so soon, though. A few weeks! A month at max, remember?”

Jillian sniffles and wipes her eyes with her coat sleeve. “I know.”

“At least you’ll have Poppy to keep you company,” Erin jokes. “Think of me, sitting alone in my hotel room.”

“It’s a suite, not a room,” Jillian says, smile pulling at her lips. “I’ll call you. Every day. Multiple times a day.”

Erin smiles. “That’s a lot.”

“Don’t care,” Jillian says, and kisses her.

 

Getting on a plane to Boston and saying goodbye to Kevin, Patty, Abby, and Jillian is the hardest thing Erin’s done in years. Abby hugs her for two minutes straight. Jillian just holds her hand until they have to break apart at security.

It feels like leaving her again, even though Erin knows logically that Jillian will join her soon.

As soon as she gets to the hotel that Harvard is putting her up in until they can help her find better accommodations, she calls Jillian. They talk on the phone for almost three hours.

She spends her weekend getting her bearings and settling in, then on Monday she has her first day of work. She meets the team that she’s going to be working with to develop the program. Their first meeting goes exceptionally well.

Her office is massive. She sets one framed photo of the Ghostbusters on her desk, and one framed photo of her and Jillian from their wedding.

The next weeks go by fast, but slow. She talks with Jillian daily, sometimes on the phone and sometimes on a video call. She asks about Poppy, who’s gaining weight fast. It’s the size of a grape now.

Jillian is an emotional mess, and the first one to admit it. It’s quite possibly the worst timing ever to be dealing with long-distance.

It makes Erin speed up her house search that much more. Before she left, they got as much financial stuff sorted as possible to expedite the process, including being pre-approved for a mortgage. Between Harvard’s relocation allowance, the money Erin received from her award, and their combined savings, they have enough to put a sizable down payment on a place.

In her second week there, she finds it.

It’s a foreclosure—a Victorian in Jamaica Plain that’s a definite fixer-upper but decent price. Four bedrooms, three bathrooms, a mostly finished basement, and even a dusty attic that Jillian gets weirdly excited about when Erin tells her about it.

It’s not perfect, but it’s perfect for them. Erin just gets a good feeling about it.

They put in an offer.

 

Back in New York, Jillian packs up their apartment with the help of Abby, Patty, and Kevin. Erin makes sure to tell her daily to keep calm and stress-free for the sake of Poppy, so she does.

Poppy is the size of a kumquat, according to Erin, and considered a fetus now, not an embryo.

“What the fuck is a kumquat?” Jillian says.

While Erin sorts out all the house stuff in Boston, Jillian is working with their caseworker and Laura and Will’s social worker.

She meets with Ramira and they Skype in the kids’ social worker, Deanna, who’s with Erin on their end.

“These kids are definitely classified as special needs based on the circumstances,” Deanna says. “They’re siblings who can’t be separated, and because they’re biracial, our preference would be a family with the same ethnic makeup. Of course, finding a family that they connect with takes priority, but Will is also on the autism spectrum, so finding a family that can support him is absolutely essential. It hasn’t been easy finding these kids placements—they’re currently in their fourth home in the past four years since their mother passed away.”

Jillian’s stomach turns. “Their mom died?” she asks in a quiet voice.

“Yes,” Deanna says. “They were initially placed with their aunt and uncle, but that didn’t work out, and they were placed with a foster family. That placement lasted less than a year. They stayed with their second foster family for over a year, then that brings us to their current placement.”

“Can I ask why there was so much movement?” Erin says.

“Will has a hard time connecting with people,” Deanna says. “It’s proven to be very difficult to find a placement for him. We’ve also learned that he has a harder time with male figures. So far, he seems to be doing okay in the current placement, but it took him a few months before he was fully comfortable interacting with his foster parents.”

Jillian meets Erin’s eyes on the screen.

“He spoke to us,” Jillian says. “When we met him at Max and Sam’s. He talked to us for fifteen minutes.”

Deanna pauses and writes down a note. “That’s good to know,” she says. “Now, the kids _are_ looking to be adopted. The focus now is finding them a permanent, stable home with a family that fits them and their needs. The emphasis there is on stability—they have had enough movement. When we select a family, we want them to have the strongest chances of succeeding. I understand that you are in the middle of relocating to the Boston area?”

“Yes,” Erin says. “We would want to keep things as stable as possible. We’re in the process of buying a house in Jamaica Plain, but we would do everything in our power to keep them in their current schools in Brighton so we wouldn’t disturb their lives any more than necessary.”

“That’s great,” Deanna says, “but there is more to finding a good match than that.”

“Of course,” Erin says.

“I think, in the interest of full disclosure about our situation,” Jillian says, earning a small nod from Erin, “I should mention that I’m currently pregnant.” It feels so strange to say the words to someone that isn’t Erin or a doctor. “What were you looking for in terms of other children in the household?”

Deanna frowns. “That does complicate things. Will and Laura both expressed willingness to be placed with other children, provided they get the care and attention they need; however, one of their foster homes had another child who Will did not get along with. The bigger concern is the timing. This situation isn’t uncommon, especially with parents who have been trying to conceive for many years and keep trying during the adoption process. Many agencies will put a freeze on the process until a minimum of three to six months following the birth of the child.”

“What?” Jillian squawks. “That’s ridiculous!”

“It’s to allow for proper bonding with both the infant and the adopted child,” Ramira says coldly beside her.

Jillian huffs. “Listen, this wasn’t an accident and we weren’t trying to…to cheat the system. We put a freeze on the process _ourselves_ to explore having a biological child. We were going to come back to adoption once we had settled with our baby. We didn’t expect to meet two kids who we connected with instantly. We feel like they’re meant to be a part of our family. And yeah, maybe being pregnant and in the middle of moving aren’t great circumstances from your perspective, but from our perspective we found these incredible kids in Boston _right_ in the middle of debating if we should move to Boston. That doesn’t sound like bad timing to me. That sounds like the universe giving us a sign.”

She sits back in her chair with another huff.

Ramira clicks her pen and scrawls an illegible note in her binder. Jillian nearly punches her.

“Well,” Deanna says after a long pause, “the next step is updating your homestudy with your new place of residence. After that, we can discuss this further. When do you expect to be in your home?”

Erin coughs. “We’re in negotiations right now. We’ll be able to move in fairly quickly once we close. We’re hoping to take possession by the end of February.”

Deanna writes that down. “Okay, then. Homestudy first. Then we’ll talk.”

 

The next day, their offer is accepted. Erin calls Jillian right away.

“You better have something damn good to say,” Jillian says cheerfully by way of answering. “I was just about to figure out my power problem.”

“Can you wait and figure it out in our new house?”

Silence. “We got it? They accepted the offer?”

“They accepted the offer,” Erin says, grinning ear to ear and flopping back on her hotel room bed. “First thing Monday, we’re going to get the inspection set up.”

“Holy shit,” Jillian says. “Erin, we’re going to be parents _and_ homeowners.”

“Yeah.” Erin settles back against her pillows, smile softening. “We are.”

 

As Erin continues to deal with house stuff, Jillian deals with baby stuff. Poppy grows to the size of a fig and strips away all of Jillian’s appetite. There’s a day when she all she eats is a single Thin Mint, three Cheetos, and twelve Capri Sun pouches, which she washes her prenatal vitamin down with.

The following week, they have their house inspection on Wednesday, which goes well. Then on Friday, Erin takes the train down for Jillian’s first ultrasound.

She picks her up from the station and throws her arms around her, gripping her tightly. It feels like it’s been ages since she saw her last.

“Oof. Don’t squish Poppy, Jillian,” Erin says.

Jillian steps back and kisses her. “Poppy has grown a lot since you left. It’s the size of a lime, now, and far less breakable.”

“I can’t wait to see Poppy,” Erin says. “Shall we?”

In the ultrasound room, Jillian shifts and holds Erin’s hand, staring expectantly at the screen. She jumps when the goo touches her bare stomach.

“Jesus, that’s cold,” she says.

The technician smiles. “Try to relax.” She digs the wand uncomfortably hard into Jillian’s abdomen.

Jillian screws up her face at the pressure.

“Aaand…there’s your baby,” the technician says.

“Jillian,” Erin says breathlessly, “open your eyes.”

Jillian holds them shut for a moment more, then slowly opens her eyes.

There, on the screen, is a tiny squirming body. Inside her body.

She had a witty joke prepared, but it falls dead on her tongue. None of the words fit. She blinks.

“It’s Poppy,” Erin says.

Jillian stares.

“You’ve got one baby in there. There’s the head,” the technician says. “The legs. That’s an arm, there.”

Jillian stares some more.

Erin squeezes her hand. “You okay?”

“That’s…that’s a real thing in there. That’s a pre-human.”

The technician chuckles. “That’s a new one.” She moves the wand. “Let’s try to get the heartbeat.”

Jillian waits, watching the screen.

A few seconds later, she hears it. She glances quickly at Erin, who’s sitting on the edge of her seat, eyes wide and shiny.

“Are you crying?” Jillian asks.

“It’s our baby,” Erin says. “Of course I’m crying. Why aren’t you? You cried over a tomato the other day. You told me about it _twice_.”

“I dropped it on the floor and it smooshed,” Jillian says. She looks back at the screen. The heartbeat is so loud for such a tiny little entity. Poppy is kicking and karate-chopping. Jillian reaches her fingers towards the screen.

“Stay fighting, little Poppy,” she whispers.

 

Erin returns to Boston.

They’re closing on the house on February 12th and taking possession on the 14th, and there’s still a lot to do to prepare for Jillian moving, plus a strenuous job and a pregnant wife to deal with. Erin sticks a copy of the sonogram in her desk drawer at work so she can open it and remind herself of the important things when she needs to.

Poppy is now the length of a pea pod, and it’s the last week of the first trimester.

They already have a plan for when they’re going to tell everyone. They want to make sure that Abby is the first to know, because they owe it to her, so they’re going to tell her, Patty, and Kevin on the 14th, the day that Erin will go back to New York and then depart for Boston with Jillian and all their belongings. After that, they’ll tell Mark, Brenda, and Luke. Then they’ll tell Rebecca and Connie.

Erin keeps a little calendar on the desk in her hotel room, and she crosses off the days until moving day, counting down until she’ll be reunited with her family and ready to start their new life together.

At the end of the week, the closing paperwork gets express mailed to Jillian so she can sign everything. She reports that everything in the house is packed up aside from living essentials.

The days don’t pass fast enough.

On Wednesday, the documents arrive back in the mail and Erin signs as well.

And they have a house.

 

Jillian has been up since 4:30am.

She didn’t _have_ to get up at 4:30am, but she was experiencing too many different emotions to sleep, so she ended up waking up, packing up her bedding in a garbage bag and stowing it with the rest of the stuff, and making herself a peanut butter sandwich.

She sits on the floor in the bare apartment, surrounded by boxes, and eats it.

“I’m sorry you’ll never see this place, Poppy,” she says. She takes another bite from her sandwich. “You’ll like Boston better, though.”

Poppy is the size of a lemon, and can apparently pee now, which is great. Still not a great conversational partner, though.

“You might have a brother and sister in Boston,” Jillian says after she polishes off the last of her sandwich and licks peanut butter from her fingers. “Maybe. Hopefully.”

She sits in the silence of the apartment for a while. After a while, she hikes up her shirt and rests her hand on the teeny tiny bump on her stomach. It’s barely anything. She’s had burrito babies larger.

It’s there, though.

“Alright,” she says finally, “let’s go get your mom.”

Erin’s train isn’t actually coming in for hours, but Jillian has to get the last-minute stuff packed up, go pick up the moving van, and mentally prepare herself to leave the city that’s become home over the past seven years and the team that’s become her family.

The first two things she gets done by 9:00am. The rest is a bit more difficult.

She picks up Erin from the train station by lunch and they go get a bite to eat before texting Abby to see when they want to meet up for the surprise going-away-party at Abby’s apartment that they’re not supposed to know about.

Abby tells them to come over as soon as they can.

When they get to Abby’s apartment, she’s the only one there. She says that Patty and Kevin won’t be by until later.

“I wanted one last little bit of alone time with my best friends,” Abby says.

“C’mere, Abby.” Jillian pulls her into a hug.

They squish together on Abby’s couch. It reminds Jillian of their college days.

Jillian meets Erin’s eyes over Abby’s head. They were going to wait until everyone was there together, but they didn’t anticipate being alone with Abby. Erin gives a tiny nod.

“Hey, Abs?” Jillian says quietly.

“Yeah?”

Jillian swallows. “How’d you feel about being an aunt?”

Abby freezes. Turns her head slowly to look at her. “What?” Her head snaps back over to Erin. “You’re…”

“Not me,” Erin says.

Abby whips her head around so fast it hurts Jillian’s neck to watch.

“Mini-Holtzmann, coming to a big screen near you in August 2020,” Jillian says.

“Oh my God,” Abby says. “Are you kidding me?”

“Nope.” Jillian lifts her butt to pull out her wallet from her back pocket and pills out the folded sonogram she’s been keeping inside. She hands it to Abby. “Abby, meet Poppy.”

Abby looks at her in disbelief. “You’re…”

“Pregnant.”

“With…”

“A human fetus, yeah.”

“Poppy?”

“Not a girl,” Jillian warns. “Just Poppy.”

“Holy crap,” Abby breathes. “So _that’s_ why you’ve been all sick and mysterious and you stopped work. I thought you were _dying_ , Jillian. Jesus.”

“We’re all dying,” Jillian says ominously.

Abby smacks her, then groans. “God, everything makes so much more sense now. I mean, I’m beyond excited for you guys, but mostly I’m just glad that you don’t have a terminal illness. I can’t believe you actually put safety and common sense ahead of work, for once. I mean, giving up the lab entirely? I thought you were crazy. Or dying.”

“Not dying,” Jillian says. “Just going to reiterate that.”

“Who else knows?”

“Just you,” Erin says. “Well, and some other people.”

“What other people?”

Jillian coughs. “Nobody important. You’re the first one we wanted to tell for real.”

Abby grins excitedly, then her face falls a second later.

“What’s wrong?” Erin asks.

“I just remembered that you’re moving today,” Abby says glumly. “I’ll never get to be cool Aunt Abby.”

“Sure you will,” Jillian says. “Boston is only a few hours away. You’ll always be welcome. Always.”

“That’s an open invitation for me coming up every weekend,” Abby warns.

Jillian leans her head on Abby’s shoulder. “Good.”

They spend the next few hours talking about Poppy and Boston until they end up strolling down memory lane together and reminiscing about all the times they’ve shared. Jillian doesn’t move from Abby’s side.

She’s going to miss her like crazy.

A few hours later, Patty and Kevin show up and their going-away party officially begins. It takes about five minutes into them being there until Jillian can’t take it anymore.

“Hey, guys, announcement time.”

“You’re moving to Nebraska?” Kevin guesses.

“We’re moving to Boston,” Erin says.

“Aw,” Kevin says. “I’ll miss you.”

Jillian shakes her head. “Not that, Kev, no. It’s something else. Ummm…Erin?”

Erin looks surprised to have the reigns passed off to her. “Okay. Uh…here’s the thing. We…we’re expecting. Jillian is, I mean.”

“Expecting mail?”

“A baby, Kev.”

“I KNEW IT,” Patty screams.

“You did _not_ ,” Jillian says.

“Hell yeah I did! You quit the lab, you’ve been moody as fuck and sick all the time, you conveniently stopped drinking, not to mention how damn gaga you were over them kids at the diner in the summer and that talk we had. I totally knew it.”

“Actually, Patty did suggest it after Christmas, and I laughed in her face,” Abby says.

Patty looks smug. “How far along are you?”

“Fourteen weeks,” Jillian says. “The fetus is called Poppy— _gender-neutrally, I might add_ —until further notice.”

“Poppy, that’s cute,” Patty says.

“You wanna see a sonogram? It’s even cuter when you can see it.”

 

The going-away party is quiet but lively. It’s clear that nobody is thinking about the fact that they have to leave in a few hours.

The three of them give Erin and Jillian housewarming gifts to take with them.

“If we’d known about Poppy, we would’ve gotten baby stuff, too,” Abby says.

“Save it for the baby shower,” Jillian says with a wink.

They all put off saying goodbye for as long as possible.

“Are you going to go say goodbye to the lab?” Abby asks.

Jillian looks at the floor. “I can’t. Not safe.”

Erin watches her for a few seconds. She looks crushed. “We can go,” she says. “For a few minutes. Just to say goodbye.”

Jillian perks up. “Really?”

“You need to pick up the rest of your stuff that we packed up for you, anyway,” Abby points out.

“Okay,” Jillian says. “Let’s go to the lab, then.”

 

Jillian waits outside the firehouse with Patty while Abby and Erin run around inside shutting down any machinery that is probably safer turned off. They can’t power down the containment unit, which probably has the most radiation, but Erin’s right. They’ll be quick.

“We sure are gonna miss y’all,” Patty says beside her.

Jillian looks up at her. “I know. What’ll you possibly do without your brilliant engineer? Might as well shut down the Ghostbusters altogether.”

Patty laughs. “You’re not that important,” she jokes. “Nah, we’ll keep at our research, just like you and Erin. I’ll keep writing my book. Abby…don’t tell her I said so, but she met with someone from Yale a few weeks ago.”

Jillian grins. “Good. I hope that works out for her. What do you think Kev will do?”

“Oh, we’ll find something for him. He could be my personal assistant.”

Jillian laughs. “I’m gonna miss you, Patty.”

“You too, baby. I can’t wait to hear all about Boston and parenting.”

Jillian snorts. “You’ll hear all about it, believe me.”

The door to the firehouse opens, and Erin pokes her head out. “We’re ready.”

Jillian takes a deep breath and steps inside.

It’s been so long—months—since she was last inside the firehouse. It’s exactly as she remembered it, although with little changes that mark the passage of time without her. Kevin’s desk is in a different spot. The work area in front of the containment unit controls is cleaner. She swallows.

Erin comes to stand beside her and takes her hand. “Upstairs?”

Jillian hesitates, then nods.

They climb the stairs. Nobody follows them. Giving them privacy to say goodbye.

In the lab, Jillian runs her hand along a clean work table. There are a few boxes marked with her name—one of her names, at least—that are full of her favourite tools and half-finished prototypes.

She looks around the room.

“You okay?” Erin asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Jillian says. “It’s just a room.”

“I know,” Erin says. “But I also know that it’s never just a room.”

Jillian blinks back tears.

Erin reaches into her pocket and then transfers something solid into Jillian’s hand a second later. Jillian unfurls her fingers to see the smooth red body of her favourite utility knife.

She smiles and flips open the blade, eyes wheeling for a good place. Erin nudges her and points to her wooden desk in the corner, which she rarely worked at because of the several times she lit it on fire mistakenly.

Jillian walks over to the desk and crouches to crawl underneath, then reconsiders. It’s not permanent enough. She finds a window, instead, and digs the knife into the frame until she’s left with a heart enclosing ‘GG + RJ’ forever.

“Roof?” Erin suggests as Jillian pockets the Swiss Army knife.

“Roof,” Jillian confirms.

 

The rooftop is quiet despite the bustle of the city below. They gravitate naturally to their Spot in the corner, where the roof railings join. Jillian leans against the railing and watches the skyline. Erin watches her instead.

“Are you sad to be leaving New York?” she asks quietly.

“Yes,” Jillian says, “but I’m excited to start a new life with you and Poppy and whatever other kids we eventually welcome into our family.”

“Same.”

“I’ll miss the city, though.”

“And all this?”

“And all this,” Jillian confirms.

Erin finds her hand. “We’re not leaving everything behind.”

“No,” Jillian agrees, “we’re not leaving everything.”

They observe the city in silence.

“Hey, Jillian?”

“Yeah, Erin?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Jillian squeezes her hand. “Come on. It’s time to go.”

Erin squeezes back, takes one last look at the city, and turns away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking for more _all the love_? Check out the spinoff [collection of oneshots](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13903323/chapters/31995915) I'm writing to read some bonus scenes from this fic. Alternatively, for more feelings, take a look at the [moodboard series](http://jillbert.tumblr.com/tagged/all-the-love-i-never-gave) for each section. 
> 
> Other than that, you still have one more chapter to look forward to, the second half of this section. After beta input, I've decided that this section will be the last, and I will not post the epilogue I've written. That being said, it's possible I will eventually post it in the oneshot collection (if people want me to). Thanks for reading, guys, and for your patience! See you soon for the last chapter :)


	20. (before I left you)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last time. I love you guys for coming this far. I hope it was worth the wait. <3

Their new forever starts that day.

Their new forever starts with goodbyes.

It starts with goodbyes, and tears, and hugs, and promises. It starts with a moving van packed with everything important. It crosses over state lines into Connecticut, then Massachusetts. It arrives at an empty house that one day they’ll come to fill with light, love, family, memories.

Tonight it’s just a house.

But it’s also never just a house.

 

Everything falls into place with neat ticks on a checklist. Moving in. Telling Mark that he’s going to be a grandpa. Telling Luke that he’s going to be an uncle. A housewarming party with Rebecca and Connie. Telling Rebecca and Connie that they’re going to be grandmothers. Rebecca denying her status as a grandmother based on the lack of biological or adoptive connection. Jillian laughing at her denial. Everyone pretending not to notice how emotional Rebecca actually is.

The sooner they get unpacked and settled, the sooner they can update their homestudy. The first few weeks after moving in, Jillian chips away at the house while Erin’s at work. She comes home from work each day to find something else done.

The homestudy update begins and ends in just over a week. Their house is deemed acceptable by state laws. The next week, they get to have an arranged meeting with the kids.

Jillian brings the comic for Will to read. He reads it right there and decides that he wants to read more. Jillian promises him that she’ll find him more. They talk about Ghost Girl and Reptilian Jillian. Will says that their superpowers are cool.

Erin talks to Laura while Deanna takes notes in the corner. She asks Laura questions about school and hobbies and interests. She’s quiet, but once Erin gets her talking, she finds out a lot: her favourite books and shows and movies and subjects in school and foods and sports and what she likes doing when she’s not in school. Erin learns that she goes to conventions, comic conventions, with Will every year.

Near the end of the visit, which flies by, Laura looks at her scuffed Chucks and tugs on her ear. The habit reminds Erin of Jillian.

“Your wife is pregnant,” she says quietly to Erin. “Deanna told us.”

Erin fidgets with her hands. “Yes. How do you feel about that?”

“I dunno.”

“How does Will feel about it?”

“I dunno.”

Erin is quiet. “It’s okay if you don’t know yet,” she says finally. “But I want you to know that it doesn’t change anything from our perspective, okay? We want you to be a part of our family.”

Laura is quiet, too.

“I think it’s time to get you two back to Max and Sam’s,” Deanna announces.

Laura thanks them for meeting them again and says that she’ll think about it.

As they’re putting on their coats to leave, Jillian shouts suddenly and clutches her stomach. Erin’s heart drops, and she’s at her side in an instant.

Jillian grips Erin’s arm, one arm still wrapped around her abdomen. “I just—Erin, I just—”

“What’s wrong? What’s happening? Does it hurt? Is something happening?” Erin can feel herself struggling to breathe. Deanna and Laura are inching closer, eyes worried.

“It kicked, Erin. Poppy kicked.”

“What? Poppy kicked?”

“Poppy kicked. I could feel it.”

Poppy, who’s grown from an apple to an avocado to a turnip to a bell pepper to an heirloom tomato in the last month.

Poppy, kicking.

“Oh my God,” Erin says softly. “Really?”

“I want to feel,” Will says.

They all look at him.

“I don’t know if you’ll be able to feel it, buddy, but you can try,” Jillian says.

Erin watches him approach. Jillian hikes up her shirt enough to expose her still small (but definitely pregnant) belly and points to the spot. Will very carefully and gently lays his hand on the spot.

Silence. Everyone waits.

Less than a minute passes.

“I felt it,” Will says.

Jillian looks back at Erin with wide eyes. “That was definitely another one. How common is that this early?”

Erin thinks back to all the research she’s done. “Not very,” she says in wonder.

Jillian looks back down at Will. He gazes earnestly up at her.

“It must like you,” Jillian says. “It’s never done that before.”

“Yes,” Will says. “I think it likes me.”

A slow smile spreads on Jillian’s face.

After that, they go home.

It kills Erin that they can’t take the kids home with them. She doesn’t like goodbyes.

Sometimes they’re necessary, though. Without saying goodbye, you can never say hello again.

 

When they meet with Deanna a few days later, she says that the kids didn’t stop talking about them the entire car ride back.

They want to move forward.

Jillian clutches Erin’s hand tightly, other hand on her belly.

Deanna has a plan. A plan that gives them a chance to bond with the kids prior to the baby’s birth, and then a chance to bond with the baby in the absence of the kids. Adjustment periods, she calls them.

It means that they won’t get to live with the kids full time until after the baby’s born.

Jillian doesn’t mind anymore. She doesn’t care how long it takes, because she knows without doubt that these kids are meant to be a part of their family, and that they will be.

The day after their meeting with Deanna, Jillian enters Week 20, which means she’s halfway done. Poppy is the length of a banana and wreaking all sorts of havoc on everything from her skin to her appetite. That being said, Jillian a hell of a lot more comfortable now than she was in the first trimester.

Because Erin is always at work, Jillian becomes very acquainted with the closest grocery store and becomes friends with all the cashiers, who see her at least once a day. Her cravings are frequent and all over the place. It’s not uncommon for Erin to return home to find five or more new items in the fridge.

She has another ultrasound to check that nothing’s out of place and that all Poppy’s parts are there. At this point, they _could_ find out what parts are _specifically_ there, but they’re not going to. The technician says that everything checks out and looks normal, and that’s all they want to hear.

That weekend, they get to spend a full day with Deanna and the kids. They take them to the Museum of Science, where Jillian finds out that the kids have a lot of the same favourite exhibits as she does. The excursion reminds her of her first date with Amber to this very same museum, and she makes a mental note to phone her when she gets home. She hasn’t had a chance to connect with her since they moved. It’s been a chaotic few months, but she’d like to catch up.

At lunch, they sit in the cafeteria and eat together, and they’d feel almost like a family if not for Deanna’s presence. Jillian listens to Erin and Laura talking and watches Will carefully cutting up his hamburger patty covered in ketchup, and she smiles.

She does call Amber that night, who’s surprised that they’ve moved to Boston, to say the least. They make plans to have her over for dinner.

The next week brings an unsupervised evening with the kids. Deanna brings them to the house, ensures that they’re comfortable, and then leaves them be with a promise to be back in a few hours. They give the kids a full tour of the house and make them a nice dinner, fully gluten- and dairy-free for Will. In addition to his food allergies, they’ve been told that he’s a very picky eater, so it’s a relief when he eagerly eats his helping of the gluten-free spaghetti that they’ve made.

The visit goes by way too fast. When Deanna comes to pick the kids up a few hours later, they look like they don’t want to leave either. Jillian grips Erin’s arm when they say goodbye.

On the weekend, they have Amber over for dinner, which is a very different (but equally pleasant) experience.

The second Amber gets inside, she envelopes Jillian in a tight, rocking hug, then jumps back almost instantly.

“Holy shit,” she says, her eyes going straight to Jillian’s (quite noticeable) midsection.

“It’s nice to see you, too, Amber,” Jillian says, grinning widely.

“That’s…that’s…are you messin’ with me? This like a prank? You’re a few days past April Fools, but like that’d stop you.”

“What’s the verdict, Er?” Jillian calls over her shoulder.

Jillian hears the sound of Erin washing her hands in the kitchen, in the middle of dinner preparation, and then she steps into the hallway a few seconds later.

Erin wipes her hands on her pants as she comes down the hall. “Hi, Amber! It’s so nice to see you again. Sorry about that, I was just working on dinner.”

Amber gives her a hug, too, but she’s still wide-eyed. “Erin, set me straight on this.”

Erin looks at Jillian nervously. “What?”

Jillian points to her protrusion. “Prank?”

Erin frowns. “No?” Her face softens into understanding a second later. “Oh, Amber thinks it is. That’s fair, actually.”

“You’re telling me that you managed to convince _this_ _one_ to carry a pregnancy? Are you for real?”

Erin laughs. “ _This one_ wanted to. She had to convince _me_.”

Amber’s expression grows even more comical. “What? Damn. That’s…wow. Didn’t know you had it in you. Or that you _wanted_ to have it in you.”

Jillian smirks. “Why does everyone assume I wouldn’t want to carry a human fetus around?”

“You said so,” Amber says.

“Many times,” Erin says. “Also, why do you keep calling it that?”

“What? A human fetus? That’s what it is.”

“It’s redundant,” Erin says.

“I beg to differ. Everyone knows if given the opportunity, I’d be carrying a _non-_ human fetus before you could say ‘Scully.’ I need to clarify so everyone’s on the same page that this isn’t nearly that exciting.”

“She has mentioned that on many occasions as well,” Amber agrees.

“Yeah,” Erin says in defeat. “Yeah, she has.”

There are several long seconds of silence.

“So, welcome to our home,” Erin says cheerfully.

 

Over dinner, Erin finally gets to know Amber better, and she discovers why Jillian fell in love with her. She has a warm, comforting, happy presence. She seems to genuinely care very deeply about Jillian, even now. There’s no bitterness, no resentment, no anger. In fact, Erin isn’t sure that Amber is even capable of bitterness and resentment.

They tell her all about what brought them to Boston. Erin’s work. The kids. They tell her all about the pregnancy and carrot-sized Poppy.

In turn, she tells them about how she’s still going strong with Krystal, and how they’ll probably be engaged within the year. She tells them how she never wants kids, so she probably dodged a bullet with Jillian in more ways than one. That gets a laugh.

They eat and drink (water, in Jillian’s case) and laugh and the hours slip by without them even knowing it. Finally, reluctantly, Amber packs up to leave.

“Y’all better make this a regular thing,” she threatens. “Now that you live here, there’s no escapin’. No more years goin’ by between visits, alright? I wanna meet these kids of yours eventually.”

Jillian hugs her goodbye. “You can be Auntie Amber.”

“Good,” Amber says with a laugh. She moves to hug Erin. “It was so nice gettin’ to know you better, Erin.”

“You too,” Erin says. “Thank you for coming over. Next time, bring Krystal!”

Amber smiles. “How about you come over to our place next time?”

They all agree to make it happen.

After she’s gone and they’ve gone to bed, Erin rolls over onto her side and stretches her hand to rest on Jillian’s belly. She still hasn’t felt Poppy kick.

Jillian yawns. “You’ll feel it soon,” she says.

“I know,” Erin says with a sigh. “Maybe Poppy just doesn’t like me.”

Jillian sniffs. “As if.”

 

The next weekend, they get to spend another day with the kids, this time alone. They take them to a Red Sox game. Will, in his noise-cancelling earmuffs, gets really into the game and is very vocal about unjust calls. He knows all the rules to the most popular sports, despite not being much of a sports guy. She doesn’t like sports much either, but she gets into the game as well. The Red Sox end up decimating the Baltimore Orioles, much to everyone’s glee.

They deem the day a rousing success. When Deanna picks the kids up, they immediately begin talking her ear off about the game and the day. She shoots Jillian and Erin a smile on her way out with them.

After they’re gone, the two of them sit on the couch and decompress.

“Do you think this is going to work out?” Erin asks. Her hand lands on the Poppy Bump.

Jillian glances at her. “You mean the kids?”

“Yeah. Do you think it’ll work out? Once Poppy is born and everything?”

“I think it will,” Jillian says. “I have a feeling about it. The universe has never let me down before.”

Erin yelps suddenly and her hand flies back off the Bump. “Oh my God!”

Jillian sits up excitedly. “Did you finally feel it?”

“I felt it,” Erin gasps. “Holy—holy _shit,_ Jillian, there is a _living thing_ in there. A spaghetti-squash-sized living thing.”

Jillian just laughs.

 

The next weekend, which happens to be the Patriots’ Day long weekend, it’s Laura’s sixteenth birthday. They aren’t spending the day with her, because Laura has friends, but they’re granted permission by Deanna to drop off a gift for her. They had debated for weeks about what to get her, but finally ended up getting her a rare collectible action figure from one of her favourite shows. They had to pay quite a bit for it on eBay, but it’s worth it to see the look on her face.

On Tuesday, they have a meeting with Deanna to discuss how things are going. She says she’s very heartened by how things are looking. She wants to arrange the kids’ first overnight visit.

Erin and Jillian have booked to travel to Michigan the following week to see Mark and Brenda while it’s still safe for Jillian to travel. They arrange to have the kids overnight once they get back.

Once that’s confirmed, it becomes essential that they get the kids’ rooms set up. They currently only have beds in the rooms, because that’s all they needed to pass the homestudy update.

They spend the next few days giving the rooms paint touch-ups and buying and assembling furniture. They fit both rooms with desks, dressers, lamps, cozy armchairs, and bookshelves that seem far too small.

Jillian wonders aloud about the baby’s nursery when they’re shopping, and Erin agrees that they should probably start thinking about it more. They spend the weekend before they leave starting some baby shopping. They pick out a paint colour for the nursery as well as a theme, and they find the perfect accent item to kick the room off. Connie has already told them that she’s going to build a crib for them.

They also go maternity-wear shopping for Jillian. So far, she’s been getting by with her baggiest and stretchiest clothing, which she owns a lot of. She complains the whole shopping process, but Erin finds some items that even Jillian can’t dispute getting once she tries them on and realizes how comfortable they are.

When they get back from shopping, Erin unpacks the bags while Jillian rests on the couch downstairs. She unwraps the paper covering the medium-sized frame that they bought earlier and examines the artwork inside.

She bends and carefully leans the black and white calligraphy against one of the bare walls in the soon-to-be-nursery, then turns and leaves it sitting there to soak into the room.

_the universe is yours_

 

They fly to Michigan.

Mark and Brenda are looking good, if old. Mark is retiring this year. Brenda retired last year.

They’re beyond excited to hear all about how Poppy is doing. Jillian also gets to tell them about the kids. She says that they shouldn’t get their hopes up, though. Nothing is even remotely close to definite yet.

Poppy is the size of a rutabaga, now, and Jillian’s stomach is the size of a soccer ball. It’s quite ridiculous, actually. It’s astounding how many people walk up to her on the street and touch her stomach without asking or initiate conversation about how far along she is and what _gender_ her unborn fetus is, like that’s completely normal.

(She supposes it sort of is, but that doesn’t mean she supports it).

Mark and Brenda get them a few presents, some for the house, some for the baby, and best of all, a maternity shirt for Jillian that reads _We’re hoping it’s a dinosaur_ with an accompanying picture. She immediately puts it on.

Mark and Brenda have been packing up the house to downsize, finally selling the home that Jillian spent all of her teen years in. It’s been twenty-six years since she moved from the apartment of her childhood into this house, this house that felt like a real home, this house that united her, her mom, and Mark into a family. For a long time, she was uncomfortable that Mark hadn’t gotten rid of it yet and was continuing to live there with Brenda, but now she realizes that it’s going to be harder to say goodbye to than she would’ve thought.

Mark tells her that she can take whatever she wants, that he’ll even pay to ship a few boxes to their place in Boston. He’s still got several boxes of her mom’s old stuff that she’s welcome to go through, in addition to everything in her own room.

She starts in her room. It’s still scarily untouched from her youth. Her closet has the most to go through. Boxes upon boxes of stuff.

She opens one of the boxes, unmarked, and a smile spreads on her face when she realizes what’s inside. She uncaps a Sharpie with her teeth and scrawls a note on the side of it, then pushes it to the side.

After she’s gone through the closet, she sits on her bed and opens the box of her mom’s belongings. One box is full of clothes, some that Jillian had completely forgotten about. She removes and sets aside a whole stack of wonderful old oversized shirts that she can vividly picture her mom wearing. She discards all the skirts, but keeps one or two pairs of outdated, wide-legged pants that she’ll definitely wear.

The next box has some of her knick-knacks, jewelry, and other treasures. There’s a set of gaudy ceramic salt and pepper shakers shaped like ducks that she fondly remembers sitting on the kitchen table. There’s a Ziploc bag of magnets from the fridge in their apartment. There’s a short metal sculpture, an abstract representation of a woman, twisting, bending, arching, arms raised to the heavens. There are a handful of cross-stitched decorations bearing generic flower patterns and cheesy sayings like _home is where the heart is_ , from the brief cross-stitch phase her mom went through. There are a set of beautiful wooden coasters. There’s her old name tag from her days bagging cereal at the Kellogg’s factory.

The jewellery is less interesting, but Jillian sets it aside to take anyway, if only to offer her future kids. The one item that she decides to keep for herself is a silver ring, a twisted band that her mom used to wear on her thumb before she met Mark. Jillian had no idea that she kept it after she stopped wearing it.

She slides it onto her own thumb for safe-keeping, planning on finding a chain for it when she gets back so she can it around her neck. Her neck has felt oddly bare ever since she stopped wearing her Screw-U necklace.

The next boxes are filled with photo albums. Mark said that she can take any photos or whole albums that she wants, because he digitalized all the photos years ago. She flips through a few of the albums from her childhood and then decides that she wants to take them in their entirety so she has more time to look through them without rushing. One she does pause on is the one filled with baby pictures and photos from before she was even born. She finds one photo of her mom, pregnant with her, and she pauses to study it.

She removes it from its dusty plastic sleeve to get a better look. Though faded, she’s still struck by how much she can see herself in her mom. After a few moments, she carefully folds it up, pulls her wallet out of her back pocket, and tucks it inside with the latest sonogram.

At the bottom of the second box, there’s a smaller leather-bound book that Jillian initially assumes to be another photo album, but when she opens it, she finds it filled with pages upon pages of her mom’s scrawling handwriting. She spots her own name a few times on the page she opened up to. Her eyes dart up to the top of the page, which is dated November 17th, 1981. A few months after she was born.

She swallows. Shuts the book. Puts it in one of the boxes that she’s keeping.

She can’t do it today, but she will.

Later that day, the four of them (five if you include Poppy) go out for a walk together and end up in Hamilton Park. Jillian is fairly certain that she hasn’t been here since the robot fight with Carl Lund, which would have been twenty-two years ago, give or take a few weeks.

They walk through the park, dodging kids as they run around and play on the playground.

“Suppose there’s nothing we can do to convince you to raise your kids here, huh?” Mark says.

“Sorry,” Jillian says. “If the circumstances were different, I’m sure we’d consider it.”

She’s not actually sure if Erin would ever be okay living in Battle Creek again, not when there are still so many ghosts here. Jillian would be okay moving back. Her ghosts here are the kind that she _wants_ to see.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” a male voice says.

Jillian is startled out of her thoughts. Erin jerks to a stop beside her. Mark and Brenda keep walking, unaware of what’s going on.

Carl Lund, of all fucking people, is standing in front of them.

“Seriously, universe? I thought we were cool,” Jillian mutters. “Come on, Erin, let’s just keep going.”

Carl holds up both hands to stop them. “Jillian Holtzmann and Erin Gilbert? Is that really you?”

“ _Doctors_ Holtzmann and Gilbert, to you,” Jillian says curtly.

“Old friend?” Brenda says, having finally stopped with Mark.

“Nope,” Jillian says, and steps forward, pulling Erin by the hand.

Carl steps sideways to physically block them from moving. “Wait.”

Jillian grits her teeth. “Carl, I suggest you move. I don’t think your fragile ego could handle getting punched by a pregnant lady.”

He seems to notice the Poppy Bump for the first time. “Oh, wow. Congratulations. Are you—”

“Still a dyke, still a psychotic lesbian, and _very_ happily married, thank you for asking.” Jillian pulls Erin closer to her, steps forward to shield her.

Carl looks pained. “I was going to ask if you’re living here. I already knew you two got married. There was an announcement in the Enquirer. That’s where I work.”

Jillian huffs, making a mental note to ask Mark and Brenda why they ran a wedding announcement in the local paper. “You’re a _journalist_ and you had the audacity to spread your homophobic _garbage_ to that loser of a blogger? To the _tabloids?_ Fan-fucking-tastic, dude. You’re a real winner.”

“I didn’t mean to say all that stuff—”

“Like hell you didn’t.”

“I’m sorry. Erin, you too. I’m really sorry for everything I said. Not just the stuff from a few years ago, but when we were younger, too. I didn’t…I didn’t know any better.”

Jillian laughs. Mark is coming closer like he’s ready to fight Carl as well.

“I’m not even a journalist,” Carl says quietly.

“Good.”

“I just run their website. But I’ve…I’ve grown a lot. I know that what I said and did was wrong. My…my mom came out as gay last year, and I had to…I had to grow up and deal with it and face my own homophobia. I did a lot of research and have been going to support groups and I know so much more than I used to. I’ve changed. I’m not going to defend what I said or the asshole I used to be, but I want you to know it was coming from a place of ignorance and, quite frankly, stupidity. I was an ass. I’m sorry.”

Jillian doesn’t even know what to say to that.

“What about the other name-calling?” she says. “Everything you said to Erin.”

“It was wrong,” Carl says. “I have a son, now. Ryan. He’s two. I don’t want him to grow up and be treated the way I treated you guys, and I don’t want him to _ever_ treat anyone like that. It’s not right. I’m going to raise him the right way and teach him not to be like how I was. And I hope that—I hope that your kid gets to grow up without anyone like me making their life miserable.”

Jillian squints. She thinks, in there somewhere, there is a nice sentiment.

“I’m really, really sorry,” Carl says. “I know nothing I can say will fix the damage I did or erase what I said, but I’m still sorry.”

Jillian looks at Erin, who looks pale and slightly reserved. She looks back at Carl. He looks as sincere as can be.

“Thank you for your apology,” Jillian says. “I can’t speak for Erin, and I’m not going to say that I forgive you, but still. Thank you.”

Carl bows his head in acknowledgement, then scratches his neck. “I should get going. My wife is waiting at the car. It was…nice to see you guys. I hope that you’re doing well, whatever you’re doing, and I hope you have many years of happiness with each other and your family.” He offers a meager smile. “See ya.”

Then he’s gone before they can say anything else. Jillian squeezes Erin’s hand.

“What was all that?” Mark says after he’s gone.

Jillian licks her lips and lays her free hand on the Bump. Poppy is squirming.

“I’m not quite sure,” Jillian says slowly, “but I think it was something good, whatever it was.”

 

Erin doesn’t stop thinking about the encounter with Carl until after they’ve left Battle Creek. She’s mostly just frustrated that she couldn’t bring herself to say anything to him, to snap back at him like she’s wanted to all these years. The whole conversation with him felt surreal, like she wasn’t even there. Despite that, she feels like something that she’s been hanging onto for years is finally starting to be laid to rest. There’s something strangely relieving about it. She leaves Battle Creek feeling better than she did arriving.

Back in Boston, they finish up preparations for the kids’ first overnight stay. Jillian busies herself with some sort of project. Erin calls her from work on Thursday only to find that Jillian is out at the library, of all places.

“What happened to not liking books?” Erin says.

“Unless it’s telling me how to do something,” Jillian reminds her.

“You must be really stuck,” Erin says, amused. There’s a knock on her office door, and she looks up to see one of her colleagues. She holds up a finger and mouths _one sec._

“I’m not _that_ stuck, but I’m under a time crunch and don’t have the brain power to work it out as fast as I need to.”

“Well, I wish you luck with that. I have to go, Dr. Andrews is here. See you at home?”

“See ya,” Jillian says. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Erin says, and hangs up. “My wife,” she says to Dr. Andrews by way of explanation. “How can I help you?” She braces herself for some sort of criticism. Did she suggest something stupid in their curriculum development session earlier?

“Would you like to join us for lunch?” Dr. Andrews asks with a smile.

“Oh! Of course. Let me grab my purse,” Erin says, smiling in return.

 

Jillian finishes building a VCR player just in time for the kids to arrive on Friday. She helps them take their stuff upstairs to their bedrooms, where they seem to like the new furniture.

While they wait for dinner, Jillian heaves out one of the boxes that Mark express shipped to their house. It’s the first one that she pulled out of the closet.

“What’s that?” Will asks.

She opens the box to reveal the rows of VHS tapes. “It’s a TV show. Have you heard of the X-Files?”

Laura moves closer so she’s hanging off the edge of the couch. “I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never seen it.”

“What’s it about?” Will says. “Will I like it?”

“I don’t know, buddy,” Jillian says with a slow smile. “How do you feel about aliens?”

 

By the time Erin gets dinner ready, she has to work to tear Jillian and the kids away from the TV. She’s been eavesdropping on the show from the kitchen, but what she couldn’t see was the way they’re all completely captivated by the screen. She has to call their names several times, and only gets their attention when she walks in and physically pauses the show (which takes a few tries, given the artfully designed VCR that Jillian built).

The kids won’t stop talking about the first few episodes over dinner, and Erin gets into the conversation as well. She’s not about to let them think that she doesn’t love X-Files just as much as Jillian does.

After dinner, they watch the end of the episode all together, and then it’s Will’s bedtime. They go through his whole nighttime routine, which takes a little longer than anticipated, and soon he’s tucked into bed. Outside his room, Erin exchanges a look with Jillian and smiles.

 

They go back downstairs with Laura and find a movie on TV that’s just starting, which they all settle into. On one of the commercial breaks, Erin gets up to pee and leaves the two of them alone.

“How’s the baby doing?” Laura asks.

Jillian mutes the TV. “Oh, Poppy? Poppy’s real good. Length of a scallion in there.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Me neither,” Jillian admits.

“Is it weird being pregnant?”

“Yeah,” Jillian says. “Super weird. I don’t like it.”

“Really?”

“I don’t hate it as much as I thought I would, but no, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Nah,” Jillian says. “Not at all.”

Silence. The muted TV shows a commercial that’s either for yogurt or a prescription medication. She’s not sure what, yet.

“Why do you call her Poppy?”

“Not a her,” Jillian corrects. “Just Poppy. Like poppy seed. That’s how big it was when we found out I was pregnant.”

“Oh,” Laura says. “Sorry. So you don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

“Boy, girl, both, neither, anything is good for us, but we’re waiting to find out.”

On screen, a running line of text is listing side-effects underneath footage of a woman prancing in a field. Medication, then.

Laura nods. “Would you keep calling the baby Poppy if it turns out to be a girl?”

Jillian makes a face. “Ugh. I don’t think so.”

Erin has rejoined them. “What don’t you think?”

“That we’d ever _actually_ name the baby Poppy.”

“Oh. No, I don’t think so either.”

“Glad we’re in agreement.”

“Have you thought of any names yet?” Laura asks.

“No,” Erin says, at the same time that Jillian says, “Yes.”

Erin looks at her.

Jillian shrugs. “I have some ideas.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“Whenever we finally talked about names.”

“Oh. Okay, then.”

The movie comes back on. Jillian unmutes the TV.

 

Later, as they’re falling asleep, Erin rolls to face Jillian. “So, X-Files, huh?”

Jillian makes a noise.

“Is, uh…is it really appropriate for a six-year-old, Jillian?”

“Pssh. Don’t you trust me? I have all the episodes memorized. I’d never show him one with anything bad. No gore, no murderers, nothing scary.”

“They’re all a little scary,” Erin mutters.

“Come on. He loved it.”

“I just don’t want to scar him when he’s not even our kid.”

“Right. That’s for once he _is_ our kid.”

Erin laughs lightly. “Goodnight, Jillian.”

“Night, Erin.”

 

Their first overnight is deemed a success by Deanna and the kids, and they arrange to spend a full weekend together the next week, which also goes extremely well.

Jillian enters the third trimester.

“Home stretch,” she groans to Poppy, who’s the size of an eggplant now.

They have the kids for two days in a row, school nights, so they can assess how it would be taking them to and from school. It’s a bit of a commute to get to their schools in Brighton, but completely doable. Erin is off work now for the summer, which helps, but the commute could easily be combined with her commute to Harvard once she’s back.

They also spend Memorial Day with the kids. The Museum of Fine Arts is offering free admission for the day, so they spend part of the day there.

The next day, they have a meeting with Deanna to assess their progress and discuss strategy for the future. The way she explains it, they have to be careful to strike a balance between fostering a bond between them and the kids and becoming too attached. After Poppy is born, there’s still a chance that things won’t work out. Deanna says they want to lessen that blow if it happens.

Jillian doesn’t say anything, but she knows Erin is thinking the same thing that she is—there’ll be no way to cushion that potential blow. They’re way past the point of being too attached.

As Deanna’s last test, they’re going to have the kids for an entire week. Then she says they’ll slow their visits as they get closer and closer to August. It makes sense logically given the whole Poppy situation, but Jillian is still having a hard time with it. She wants to increase their time spent with the kids, not decrease it.

To distract themselves and pass time while they wait for their week with the kids, they prepare for Poppy. Jillian paints the nursery while Erin shops. She researches nearly everything that they have to buy and finds the best stroller, best car seat, best highchair, best diapers. Jillian leaves all of that in Erin’s capable hands.

Erin comes back from a shopping trip one day with her hands full of bags. Jillian is sitting on the plastic-covered floor in the nursery, using a fat paintbrush to flick paint on the ‘accent wall,’ as Erin calls it.

“That’s looking good.” Erin kisses the top of her head.

Jillian looks up. “What did you get?”

Erin sets the bags down and reaches inside one of them to pull out an impossibly tiny onesie. “I wasn’t going to get any clothes today, but _look_ at this.”

Jillian sets down her paintbrush and wipes her hands on her overalls, then takes the microscopic article of clothing from Erin.

“I didn’t even know they _made_ clothes this small,” she muses. She looks up at Erin in horror. “We’re going to have a tiny human this small. What the _fuck_ , Erin.”

“Breathe,” Erin says.

“You sound like Cheryl,” Jillian grumbles. They’ve been attending birthing classes, which are just about as horrible as she expected they’d be.

Erin kisses her head again. “It’ll be okay.”

 

On the third night of their week with the kids, Erin wakes up to audible crying.

She startles upright and turns the light on, and she’s already thrown back the covers before she realizes that it’s coming from Jillian.

She’s curled on her side, facing away from Erin, and her whole body is shaking.

“Jillian? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Is Poppy okay?” Erin scrambles over to the other side of the bed so she’s standing in front of Jillian.

Jillian cries harder.

“Talk to me,” Erin pleads. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t leave me,” Jillian gasps out.

Erin crouches and takes Jillian’s hand, her other hand resting on her side. “I’m here, Jillian. I’m here. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“Don’t leave,” Jillian says again. “Don’t—”

“Jillian, I’m right here. I’m here.” Erin squeezes her hand.

“Don’t leave—don’t—don’t leave me,” Jillian keeps repeating. It’s like she can’t even hear Erin.

Erin’s own eyes are filling with tears. “I’m here,” she says, her voice breaking. “I’m _here_ , Jillian.”

“Don’t— _DON’T,_ ” Jillian shouts.

“Please,” Erin says, “tell me what’s happening. The kids are going to wake up. I’m here. I’m here.” She bows her head, resting her forehead on the side of Jillian’s belly. “ _Please_.”

Jillian jerks beneath her. “Erin?”

Erin lifts her head. “I’m here, Jillian.”

“What’s—what’s going on?”

Erin frowns. “You tell me.”

“I don’t—” Jillian pushes herself upright. She touches the moisture on her face and stares at Erin, wide-eyed. “What’s going on? Why am I crying? Erin?” Her voice cracks on Erin’s name.

“Hold on,” Erin says, “were you asleep?”

“I—I don’t remember.”

“You kept saying _don’t leave me_. Do you remember that? Were you dreaming?”

Jillian closes her eyes, scrunches up her face, shakes her head. Erin moves to sit on the bed beside her, wrapping her arms around her as best as she can.

“It must have just been a bad dream or something,” Erin murmurs. “I wonder what it was about.”

Jillian shakes in her arms, and Erin realizes she’s crying again.

She grips Jillian tighter. “What? What is it? Do you remember?”

Jillian slumps into her. “I think I can guess.”

Erin waits.

“You’re not going to leave, are you?” Jillian says quietly.

“I’m right here,” Erin says. “I’m not going anywhere until you’re okay.”

“No,” Jillian says, even quieter.

It takes Erin a second.

“That’s not what you meant,” she says, finding it hard to breathe suddenly.

Jillian hangs her head.

“Jillian,” Erin manages to get out, “we’ve talked about this. I’m here for life.” She thought they were past this, that she had finally convinced Jillian that she was never going to leave again.

“I know,” Jillian squeaks, “but…”

Silence.

“But what, Jillian?”

“With Poppy on the way and things progressing with the kids, I just…I can’t help but get scared because _what if?_ What would I do if you left me and I had to raise them by myself? I don’t think I—I wouldn’t—I’m not strong enough, Erin. I wouldn’t get through it. I’d be too devastated, and I wouldn’t know what to do, and I’d…I wouldn’t be able to do it.”

Erin exhales slowly. How long has Jillian been thinking about this?

Their doctors as well as Jillian’s therapists all warned them to keep an eye out for any changes in her mental health. It can be very common during pregnancy, especially with an existing predisposition and a long history of mental health issues. Erin has been watching her like a hawk for any slippage, any shift, any microscopic hint. She thought she had been being so vigilant.

She holds onto Jillian tightly. “I’m not leaving, Jillian. No matter how hard it gets. I will be here with you.” She swallows, something about Jillian’s certainty of failure that is unsettling. “But there’s only so much I can control,” she says, wondering if maybe she should stop but continuing anyway. “I can promise you right now that I’ll never intentionally leave you, but…life happens. Circumstances change. Life is…unpredictable and short and can change at any moment. I might not leave, but I might—”

“Don’t,” Jillian says. “I know where you’re going with that. Don’t. I can’t think about that. I don’t want to lose you in any capacity.”

“I know. But…it’s important to me that you know that you _are_ strong enough. You _would_ get through it. For our kids, for me, for _you_. You are…the most incredible person, Jillian. You’ve been through so much and made it out the other end. You haven’t just survived: you’ve thrived. You would be okay without me, _if_ it ever came to that. I have faith in you.”

“I don’t want it to come to that,” Jillian says.

“Neither do I,” Erin says, “and that’s why I said I’m never going to intentionally leave you. Never. I swear to you.” She laughs a little nervously. “Plus, with what we know about the afterlife, I could just come back and never leave your side _anyway_ , but—”

“Erin.”

“I know. Sorry. Not talking about that.”

They sit in silence for a while, and then they eventually go back to bed and sleep off the conversation.

They don’t talk about it again, pretend it didn’t happen.

That doesn’t mean Erin stops thinking about it.

 

Their week with the kids goes on undisturbed.

They get into a rhythm with them, an ebb and flow, taking them to school and picking them up, making dinners, supervising homework, watching appropriate episodes of the X-Files, bonding.

That weekend happens to be Pride, much to their glee. They take the kids to the parade. It reminds Jillian of last year, at World Pride, when they got the phone call about being approved for adoption. She never would’ve expected to be here a year later, carrying a cabbage-sized-fetus and in the company of two incredible children who might be theirs soon.

It bums her out that she can’t ride with the Dykes, but this is one year that she’s also perfectly content spectating with Erin, Rebecca, and the kids. She doesn’t tone down her regular enthusiasm in the slightest, using the extra canvas space of the Poppy Bump to increase the amount of festive body paint on her skin. She paints a rainbow that arcs over the top of the Bump, followed by the (quite clever, she thinks) slogan _Full of pride, baby_. She also opts to wear a rainbow tank top hiked up instead of sticking with her usual pasties, mostly out of courtesy for the kids (but also because her boobs have been leaking a bit lately, which is horrifying in itself).

Rebecca shakes her head when she sees what Jillian is wearing, but then spends the rest of the parade talking to Laura about the history of Pride, explaining the politics much better than Jillian ever could. Laura hangs off Rebecca’s every word, stars in her eyes, especially when the conversation dissolves into a series of stories from Rebecca’s activist streak over the years. Jillian even hears some new ones.

Will, on the other hand, spends the parade talking nonstop to Erin and Jillian about the floats and other parade passerby. Apparently he loves parades, and his enthusiasm is incredible. Jillian gets even more pumped than usual with him at her side.

All five-and-a-half of them freak out when the Dykes pass, waving and cheering (and kicking, in Poppy’s case). The Dykes all make sure to rev their engines and wave back with just as much excitement.

It’s an amazing way to end their week together.

On Sunday evening, when it’s time for the kids to return to Max and Sam’s, Laura—somewhat shyly—hugs them goodbye for the first time. It makes Jillian feel all warm and fuzzy inside. She salutes Will goodbye, and he eagerly salutes back, which is just as encouraging. He doesn’t like being touched, so they’ll never use that as an indicator of comfort.

It’s incredibly difficult to say goodbye to them that night, and it seems like it’s just as hard for the kids. It’s especially hard knowing that their time together is going to be limited after this. They’ll only see the kids a handful of times from now until Poppy is born.

The next time they see them is two weeks later, when they get to spend a fairly uneventful weekend with them. Another two weeks after that, the kids are done school for the summer and they get to spend the Fourth of July with them. Will doesn’t like the noise of fireworks and Jillian is thirty-four weeks pregnant and exhausted, so they have a small barbeque at their house, just them, and stay inside to reduce the noise of other celebrations in the neighbourhood. They play board games and eat food and have an excellent day together.

A few days later, Rebecca calls out of the blue and casually suggests that they go out to dinner. Just the two of them.

Jillian immediately assumes something is wrong.

They make plans to meet at an Italian restaurant in the South End on Wednesday night. Erin tries hopelessly to convince her that everything is probably fine, but Jillian can’t help but stress a little about it.

On Wednesday, she finds the restaurant and the hostess leads her to a table where Rebecca is already waiting with a glass of wine.

Before Jillian is even in her seat, she’s already talking. “What’s going on? Are you dying?”

“Always with the dramatics, Jillian. No, I am not dying.” As if to prove her point, Rebecca takes a sip of her wine.

Jillian sighs and takes off her coat. “You’ve never taken me out to dinner alone before. You can’t blame me for being freaked out by this shit.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes, and Jillian relaxes.

Their server appears and asks for Jillian’s drink order.

“I’ll just take sixteen ounces of straight vodka. Thank you.”

The poor girl’s eyes go wide with fear. She glances down at the planet-sized protrusion. She’s wearing a shirt today that says _FBI: Funky Baby Inside_.

She’s gathered a whole collection of novelty shirts at this point. This one was a gift from the kids, but she’s also got ones that other people have sent or that she’s bought herself. Her favourite is the one that Luke sent that has a picture of the Death Star covering the Bump with the quote “ _That’s no moon!”_ That’s one of two that he sent (the other says _the force is strong with this one)_. Other highlights include _Watermelon Smuggler_ , a black shirt printed to look like an 8 ball, an _installing baby_ progress bar, and _BaBY_ represented by periodic table elements.

“I’m kidding,” Jillian says. “Just a Coke, please. And do you think you could do me a favour and swirl a cigarette around in it? Then garnish it with some raw seafood. Thank you very much.”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Enough,” Rebecca says.

“You never let me have any fun,” Jillian says. “Alright, just a plain Coke, no funny business.”

“Is Pepsi okay?” the server squeaks.

“Pepsi is wonderful,” Jillian says with an easy grin. “Thank you.”

The girl scurries off, probably escaping before Jillian can mess with her any more.

“Was that necessary?” Rebecca asks.

“You try being eight months pregnant,” Jillian says. “It’s so boring.”

She flips open her menu and quickly decides to order two different pasta dishes. Rebecca eyes her.

“Eating for two, Becca,” Jillian reminds her.

“Two fully grown adults?” Rebecca quips under her breath.

After their poor server takes their order and leaves, Jillian leans forward onto her elbows. “So. You going to tell me what this dinner is about?”

Rebecca sighs and twists the stem of her wine glass. “As I am sure you are aware, I will be turning seventy next year.”

Jillian waggles her eyebrows. “Perfect age to be a grandmother.”

Rebecca looks unimpressed. “So MIT would assume. There has been increasing pressure from the higher ups to act my age and step away from my research.”

Jillian blinks. “They want you to retire?”

Rebecca gives a tight nod.

“But…you’re Dr. Rebecca Gorin,” Jillian says.

That gets Rebecca to crack a hint of a smile. “Yes.”

“Why would they ever want to push you away?” Jillian says, baffled. “The work you’ve done there for the field is…”

“I am aware,” Rebecca says. “I am under the impression, however, that it is their goal to replace me with less expensive, less difficult faculty. God knows I have been a steady annoyance in that department for decades.”

Jillian snorts. “That was actually my title, I think.”

“Thus brings me to my objective here,” Rebecca says with another sigh.

Jillian eyes her.

“I am not ready to retire,” Rebecca says. “Far from it, actually. That being said, I have found it…strenuous, to say the least, to manage the lab the last few years.”

“Well, no kidding,” Jillian says, “you’re an old woman.”

Rebecca’s sharp look nearly kicks Jillian into premature labour. She shrinks back, holding her hands up.

“I have told the board that I would consider cutting back my time over the next few years on one condition.”

Jillian takes a long slurp from her Pepsi. “What’s that? They install a motorized stair-chair to help get you up to the reactor?”

“For God’s sake, Jillian,” Rebecca snaps, “I am trying to offer you a job.”

That shuts Jillian up. She leans back in her seat, absorbing that. “What?”

“I informed the board that I will only reduce my time if I know I am leaving my lab in the hands of someone I trust.”

“Which is…me?”

“Yes.”

“But…what if they don’t want me? Couldn’t they just go over your head and get someone else in there?”

“I would like to see them try.”

“Do you really have that kind of pull over there? I mean, I don’t doubt it, and I don’t know a lot about how academia works, but I thought that there was a bunch of bureaucracy involved in working your way up to a position like yours and—”

“I am tenured faculty,” Rebecca says. “If they don’t agree to my terms, then they will never get rid of me. I will continue to work there until I drop dead in the lab.”

Jillian grimaces. “Can we not go there?”

Rebecca tilts her head.

Jillian closes her eyes and rests her palms flat on the table. “So, let me get this straight. You’re holding your retirement hostage until MIT hires me to replace you?” She opens her eyes. “What if I don’t want to? What happens then?”

“Do you not want to return to MIT? I was under the impression that you were quite fond of your years there.”

Jillian waves a hand in dismissal. “Well, yeah, but that was because I was working with you.”

“You would still be working with me, until such time that I retired fully. I do not foresee that day coming any time soon.”

Jillian licks her lips. “Alright, fair, but…I’m about to have a baby, Rebecca. I have no clue how long it’s going to be before I go back to work. Erin is making enough money that I can afford to take as long of a maternity leave as I want.”

“You do want to return to work, though,” Rebecca says, “do you not?”

“Well…yeah. _Now_ I do, but that’s because I’ve been off _forever_ and I’ve been bored. I’m sure I won’t be missing it as much when I’ve got my hands full with an infant. Regardless, I don’t think I’m going to be ready for at _least_ a year, especially if everything works out with Laura and Will.”

Rebecca sighs. “Let’s take the children out of the equation for a moment. Would you still have any reservations about the job?”

Jillian thinks for a minute. “I’m sorry, Becca, I can’t take them out. They’re my life now. They have to shape my decisions.”

“In the future, then, is taking over my lab at MIT something you would be interested in when the timing is right for you? Or can you say with confidence that it is not an opportunity you will ever be interested in taking?”

“I—I might be interested, _someday,_ but I don’t want you to work yourself to death waiting around for me, Rebecca. What if I change my mind? I don’t know what the future will look like.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to know the future, Jillian. You shouldn’t worry about me; I am a grown woman. There are many ways in which I could cut back and ease the burden on myself without relinquishing control or stepping down from my position, until such a time that you would feel ready to step into the role yourself. If that day never comes, I will reassess. There are a few others who I would feel comfortable handing my lab over to; you happen to be my first choice.”

“I…I’m really flattered, Rebecca,” Jillian says. “That you trust me enough to take over your lab…and that you think I could actually do it. I think your faith might be a little misguided, but—”

“You don’t believe you could do the job?”

“I—”

“You are well-qualified,” Rebecca says, “and you have come far from the old days when I barely trusted you to _be_ in the lab, let alone run it.”

“I don’t think I’m _that_ qualified, actually—”

“You,” Rebecca says firmly, “are one of the most well-respected nuclear engineers in the field right now. Your work has been ground-breaking, to say the least. I can think of no individual more qualified. I have always said that you should aim your sights far higher than MIT, but selfishly, I am asking you now to consider bringing your talent back.”

Jillian’s face heats up. She’s not used to being complimented so overtly by Rebecca. Or complimented at all by Rebecca.

“How am I supposed to say no to that?” she says weakly.

“Please know that you do have the option to say no,” Rebecca says. “I do not want for you to feel pressured to take the job. Not now, and not after any number of years. It is your decision to make, not mine.” She sips from her wine glass. “I will say this, though: the board expressed keen interest when I mentioned your name for consideration.”

“They did?”

“Yes. I am certain that the position would be yours even without my…endorsement.”

“Ransom.”

“Indeed.” The corner of Rebecca’s mouth ticks up. “Your reputation precedes you, Dr. Holtzmann.”

“Never thought that’d be a good thing,” Jillian muses. “I used to think that my reputation would keep me from getting a job, actually.”

“I remember.”

Jillian thinks back to the months locked in her bare apartment, the hopelessness, the darkness. “Never thought I’d see the day…”

“Nor I,” Rebecca says, “for different reasons. As I said, you have come a long way.”

Jillian swallows and blinks back moisture from her eyes. She nods slowly. “Yeah. I have, haven’t I?”

 

The last month goes by quickly, but slowly.

Jillian expresses a great deal of frustration, claiming that she is “over this pregnancy garbage” and deciding to post an eviction notice. She spends most of the month wearing a shirt that says _I think I might be pregnant_ and achieving staggering levels of sarcasm. She tells a well-meaning elderly couple that her due date is next June and that the baby’s gender is “none of anyone’s goddamn business.” Erin tries to keep her inside after that, where she’s less susceptible to prying eyes and hands.

At the end of July, it’s Will’s birthday. They go to his birthday party at Max and Sam’s and get him a mint-condition first edition of one of his favourite comics. His enthusiasm is off the charts.

They enter August with less than two weeks on the countdown. Erin flies around, doing last-minute shopping that’s probably not entirely necessary. She rearranges the nursery microscopically: pushing the rocking chair ten degrees towards the window; switching the diaper genie to the other side of the change table and back again; moving the stuffed monkey on the dresser an inch to the left; changing the order of the storage bins against the wall. Jillian calls her crazy.

She packs and repacks the hospital bag. Jillian says that they can just wing it. Erin nearly has a heart attack. She’s been the calm, rational one for most of the pregnancy, but now that they’re getting closer, it’s Erin who’s starting to panic.

The last week is the longest week of their lives. Waiting. Just waiting. Jillian is cranky, they aren’t allowed to see the kids anymore until after the baby’s born, the house is sweltering and outside is even worse, and there’s nothing to do but wait.

They hide out in the basement, which is the coolest place in the house but still warm enough to have them sweating, and they talk. Erin tries to have a conversation about names, but Jillian still wants to wait until after the baby is born so they can see what fits. Erin is pretty sure she has something up her sleeve, though. Whatever it is, she’s sure it’s perfect.

One day, they’re sitting down there with the TV playing some mindless reality show, and Jillian stands up and begins pacing.

Erin perks up. “Contraction? Are you going into labour?”

Jillian shakes her head and continues to pace, one hand on her back and one hand playing with the two rings hanging from identical chains around her neck. One is her mom’s, and the second is her own wedding band, which she had to take off months ago to accommodate her swollen fingers.

“Rebecca offered me a job,” Jillian says.

Erin sits up straighter, sure she misheard. “What? When?”

“About a month ago.”

Erin frowns. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jillian shrugs, not breaking her stride or meeting Erin’s eyes. “I can’t take it now anyway, so it didn’t seem important enough to mention.”

“I’d say it is,” Erin says. “What kind of job?”

“Rebecca’s job.” Jillian stops pacing and stops to look at Erin, hands on her hips. “She wants me to take over the lab so she can start to retire.”

“Rebecca? Retire?” Erin laughs.

“Yeah, that’s kinda what I thought.”

“So you would…work at MIT? Running the lab?”

“Yup.”

“Jillian, you have to take it!”

Jillian rolls her eyes, and for a second she looks much younger, standing there with her hair pulled back in a messy bun, sweat plastering a few strands to her cheeks, wearing nothing but a worn black sports bra and faded blue terry cloth shorts. The skin covering her stomach pulled taut like an over-inflated balloon wobbling on the edge of bursting. The magnitude it makes her look smaller, not bigger.

“I’ll consider it. Eventually,” Jillian says. “Not for a while, obviously.”

“Why?”

Jillian gestures wildly at her stomach.

“Exactly,” Erin says. “Soon you won’t be pregnant anymore and you can go back to work. I know you’ve been dying to ever since you had to stop. It’s been almost a year, and I know how hard it’s been on you.”

“Someone needs to take care of the baby,” Jillian says. “We already know that you’re going back for the winter semester.”

“That plan was when there wasn’t a job offer for you on the table,” Erin says. “There are always other options. You know that Connie has volunteered to help as much as we need, and we could always hire a nanny. Or, I could take a longer leave and—”

“You need to go back to work if you want to stay on track to launch the program next fall,” Jillian says firmly. “Come on, we’re not going back on our plan now.”

Erin huffs in irritation. “So what if we had a plan? Plans change. We packed up our lives and moved here so I could take an incredible opportunity. You should be able to do the same.”

Jillian crosses her arms over her belly. “Maybe we should wait and have this conversation in a few months. Our lives are about to change in the next few days. Seems a little stupid to make any sort of plan right now. That’s what I told Rebecca, too. I’ll figure it out later. Right now, I’m a little pre-occupied.”

“Right,” Erin says. “Of course. I just…I don’t want you to already feel like you’re…trapped, or locked into anything, or obligated…I know how much work means to you. There’s _always_ the option to go back, whenever you want, after the baby is born. Okay?”

Jillian sinks to the floor and assumes a cross-legged position. She closes her eyes and bows her head, hands resting palm-down on her knees.

Erin watches her. “What are you doing?”

“Meditating,” Jillian says. “Aren’t I supposed to be visualizing my baby outside of me or some shit to speed this up?”

“I—yes, absolutely, if you think it will hel—”

“IT’S TIME TO MOVE OUT, POPPY,” Jillian shouts.

Erin jumps about a foot in the air.

Jillian opens one eye. “Meditation.”

“I think meditation is supposed to be silent,” Erin says, clutching her heart.

Jillian shrugs and closes her eyes again. A few minutes pass in silence.

“I don’t think work means as much to me as it used to,” Jillian says quietly after a while without opening her eyes. “I can think of a few things that are more important, now.”

Erin hesitates for a moment, then slides off the couch to sit on the floor across from Jillian. She covers her hands with her own. Jillian opens her eyes. Erin pushes a sweaty piece of hair from her forehead and kisses the spot.

“So can I,” Erin says.

 

There’s something beautiful about the pain, Jillian thinks.

Pain and destruction have always been so interconnected in her mind, in her life. Pain and suffering. Pain and loss.

This, this is creation. This is joy. This is life.

She holds her daughter in her arms and runs the pad of her fingertip along her cheek, where her first tears have already bled and been absorbed into her skin.

Erin grips Jillian’s other hand. Light filters through the blinds from the sun rising outside the window. A new day, with new life. Their first wedding anniversary. She couldn’t resist coming a day early to meet them on the same day that they met each other so many years ago. A day already spilling over with love, ready to give to their daughter.

“Welcome to this wild, wonderful universe, Dana,” Jillian says. “We’ve got you.”

 

They take a few hours alone together. The baby falls asleep first, then Jillian. Erin slips from the room. The hospital bustles at the early hour, even in the maternity ward. Life doesn’t stop for anyone.

They’re all there, waiting. Abby sees her first.

They reach her before she reaches them, skittering and crashing into each other like puppies.

Erin swallows, inhales.

“Dana Kathleen Holtzmann,” she says, voice shaking a bit. “Seven pounds even. Born at 4:14am on August 10th. Everyone is doing perfectly.”

They erupt in excited cheers and chatter, hugging and thumping her on the back and saying things that she doesn’t quite take in. It’s all a little overwhelming.

“I can’t believe you guys,” Abby says. “Actually, I can. I wouldn’t expect anything different.”

“Tribute to X-Files, tribute to Kathy, it’s all there,” Erin says weakly with a laugh. She was right that Jillian had the name up her sleeve, and as soon as she suggested it, Erin couldn’t imagine calling her anything else.

“It’s perfect,” Abby says.

 

Life becomes a series of firsts.

First time giving birth. First time breastfeeding. First time cleaning baby spit-up from her hair in a cramped hospital bathroom. First time installing a car seat. First time introducing her newborn daughter to the world.

Dana meets Mark, Brenda, Abby, Rebecca, Connie, Patty, Kevin, Luke, Cara, Amber, and then—

They’ve been home a week and Deanna brings the kids to meet her. They sit in the sunny living room and Jillian hasn’t slept in a week but her family is here, all together, they’re _here_ and everything is right.

Will is captivated and Laura holds Dana like she belongs in her arms, and Jillian just _knows_ , clearer than ever before. She has faith in the universe.

Deanna congratulates them when they leave and lingers on the porch to tell them that they can resume temporary placements in a few months, once they’ve had time to settle with Dana.

The waiting doesn’t seem so hard, now. Waiting doesn’t mean anything when you know your family will be together at the end of it all.

The first month with Dana is difficult, so difficult. It’s not what she thought it would be like. Jillian feels like everything she does is wrong. She’s exhausted already and it’s only been a month. Sometimes she gets flashes of regret, and then feels guilty and wrong.

Jillian is head over heels in love with her.

How could she regret that?

It’s fine, Jillian tells herself. It’s fine. She focuses on the love she feels and pushes down the other feelings. They’ll go away. She tries not to think about how she’s going to cope when Erin goes back to work.

She turns thirty-nine. Abby starts a new job at Yale. More firsts.

Then Jillian crashes.

 

Erin has been trying _so_ hard to look out for the warning signs.

She’s been trying, but it’s a lot to manage when you’ve also got a newborn occupying most of your time.

It’s late September. She wakes up in the middle of the night. Something is wrong.

She doesn’t know what’s wrong, but she can feel it.

Jillian isn’t in bed.

Dana isn’t in the bassinet beside the bed.

She’s been fussy through the night lately, waking up and crying frequently.

Jillian could be changing Dana’s diaper. Feeding her, maybe.

But Erin didn’t hear them leave.

Maybe that’s what’s wrong—Erin didn’t wake up to any noise. It’s silent.

She waits for a full forty-five seconds before she can’t take it and rolls out of bed. She pads down the hallway to the nursery, but the door is open and the light is off. She steps just inside the doorway and turns on the light anyway.

Empty.

She stares at the constellation wall for a few seconds, then turns and leaves, shutting the light back off on her way out.

She tries to breathe through any impending panic as she walks down the hall.

“Jillian?” she calls softly as to not wake the baby, wherever she is.

Nothing.

She swallows and tiptoes down the stairs. The third step from the bottom creaks loudly with her weight.

All the lights downstairs are off as well. She can hear the refrigerator humming.

She turns on lights as she goes, checking the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom. She checks the basement, then returns to the main floor. Something seems out of place, but she can’t put her finger on what, besides the obvious.

Back upstairs, she checks the other bedrooms, even the attic.

“Jillian?” she calls loudly, not caring about potentially waking up Dana at this point. She’d kill to hear her cries right now.

Nothing. Neither of them are in the house.

In their bedroom, she sits on the edge of the bed—Jillian’s side—and notes that her phone is still plugged in. She chews on her lip anxiously and tries to come up with some sort of logical explanation for where they could possibly be.

_Outside_. Of course. How did she not think to check there?

She goes back downstairs, taking her own phone with her. The doors are still locked. She checks the front porch anyway, the backyard, the garage. They’re nowhere to be seen.

She’s really panicking now.

She returns inside.

Then she notices what’s out of place, what’s missing from the foyer—the stroller.

That doesn’t help her panic, although it lessens the chance that they’ve both been abducted and killed.

Now that she knows what to look for, she takes stock of what else is missing. A pair of Jillian’s shoes. Her keys. Her wallet is still on the counter.

Erin paces back and forth in the living room for twenty minutes, trying to decide what to do, and then she phones Abby.

“Hello?” Abby says after four rings. “Erin? What’s going on?”

“Hey,” Erin says shakily. “Um, I’m kind of freaking out right now and I don’t know what else to do so I thought—Jillian and Dana are gone. The stroller is missing. I have no idea where they went or when they left—I didn’t hear anything, and I’m freaking out and—”

“Slow down. What’s going on?”

“Jillian and the baby are missing, and the stroller isn’t here.”

“So…they went for a walk?”

“Abby, it’s 3:00am.”

“I know, you woke me up,” Abby says.

“Who goes for a walk at 3:00am?”

“Your wife,” Abby says immediately. “All the time.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Does she not do that anymore? Huh. Well, she used to do it all the time, back when…”

“When what?”

“After you left,” Abby says shortly. “When she was really hurting. She’d take off for hours at a time in the middle of the night or early morning and walk for miles all over the city. She thought she was being sneaky about it, too, like I didn’t know.”

Erin swallows thickly. Has Jillian been doing this frequently? Has she just not noticed?

“If she’s doing it now, does that mean…” Erin trails off, unable to finish that sentence.

“It probably doesn’t mean anything. She’s probably fine,” Abby says quickly.

Erin is finding it hard to breathe. She sits down on the edge of the couch. “What if she’s not? What if—”

“Erin. Erin, chill. She’s fine. So is Dana.”

“You don’t know that,” Erin says. “We don’t even know that that’s where they are. They could be anywhere—”

“Alright, fine, but let’s not ignore the fact that Holtz is a creature of habit. When life gets hard and throws stuff at her, she does what she’s used to doing. I’m _fairly_ confident that she’s just out for a midnight angst-stroll.”

Erin shuts her eyes and furrows her brow. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Something that doesn’t make me terrified that she’s becoming depressed again.”

Abby sighs. There’s a muffled noise, probably the rustling of sheets as she shifts in her bed. “There’s no ‘again.’ She never _stopped_ having depression. She just got better at coping with it.”

“So she’s losing the ability to cope again?” Erin clenches the hem of her nightgown in between her fingers.

Abby sighs again. “I’m not saying anything, alright? I’m just saying that maybe you shouldn’t jump to any conclusions about her mental state without asking her.”

“I’d _love_ to ask her,” Erin snaps, “but it’s 3:00am and she’s missing with our infant daughter, so that’s a little hard.”

There’s a pause. “Goodnight, Erin.”

“No, Abby, wait!”

Another pause.

“Please,” Erin says. “I’m sorry. I’m just—I’m really freaking out right now. I have no idea where she is and whether or not she’s okay and I’m just—I don’t know what—”

“It’s okay,” Abby says. “It’ll be okay. She’ll come home soon.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Erin says in a small voice.

“She’ll come home soon,” Abby says, firmer.

Erin exhales through her mouth, tries to regulate her breathing.

“Can you distract me for a bit?” she pleads.

“Erin, it’s so late…”

“I know. I’m sorry. Just…just until I calm down enough to be able to wait for them?”

A pause.

“Okay. What do you want to talk about?”

“Anything. How’s Yale?”

“It’s alright,” Abby says. “It’s not as fun as working with the Ghostbusters was, that’s for sure. I miss you guys.”

“We miss you, too,” Erin says.

“How’s Harvard? When are you going back, again?”

“January. I’m going to be returning to lots of work. We have less than a year to get the program ready to launch.”

“Exciting stuff.”

Silence.

“Why do you still call her ‘Holtz?’” Erin wonders aloud.

“I thought you were trying to distract yourself from thinking about her?”

“I am. But I’ve been wondering it for a while, and…”

“She told me to,” Abby says. “Many years ago, she told me to stop calling her Jillian, and it was very important to her. She hasn’t told me anything different since, so I’m still playing by her rules.”

“I had such a hard time calling her anything but Jillian. That’s just…who she is to me.”

“Yeah, well, I spent a lot of years with a very different Jillian than the one you knew. It was a lot easier for me to let her go and accept the new name because it could almost convince both of us that she was okay.”

“Abby…”

“Sorry. I know, it’s not the time.”

They stay silent for a minute. Erin can hear Abby breathing on the other end of the line.

“Did she ever…” Erin can barely say finish her sentence.

“What?”

“Harm herself?” Erin finishes in a very small voice. All she can think about are all the interviews with their social workers.

Abby sighs for what feels like the hundredth time. “Depends on your definition. It’s complicated.”

“How?”

“She did a lot of harm to herself…to her body, to her mind…she’d probably argue that it was unintentional, but…well, let’s put it this way: she refused the help that everyone offered, which was very deliberate. She nearly killed herself—again, she says it was an accident, but it was a _preventable_ accident and she deliberately did nothing to prevent it. So yeah, I’d argue that by those standards, she did harm herself.”

Erin feels nauseated for not the first time.

They don’t talk about it a lot—the dark years. Erin has tried, but Jillian shuts down every time. It makes it that much harder to watch for warning signs that she’s slipping again.

“I’ll let you go back to sleep,” Erin says with a waver in her voice. “I’ll let you know when I find her.”

There’s a pause.

“You don’t have to find her,” Abby says. “She’ll find you.”

Erin swallows and looks up at the ceiling, trying not to cry. She hangs up and sits very still on the couch in the hopes that it’ll somehow make Jillian come home sooner.

Time slows. She waits.

At 4:53am, the front door unlocks and swings open and the nose of the stroller pokes in, followed by Jillian, who looks, in a word, sheepish—like a child caught doing something they’re not supposed to.

Erin, who has spent the past few hours paralyzed with fear, experiences approximately ten seconds of relief before pure, unbridled fury kicks in.

“Where,” she hisses before Jillian has even gotten all the way inside, “the _hell_ have you been?”

Jillian shuts and locks the door behind her. She winces. “How long have you been up?”

“Does it _matter?”_

Jillian winces again. “No. I’m sorry. I just went for a little walk with Dana because she wasn’t falling back asleep and I was getting antsy. I thought I’d be back before you’d even notice we were gone.”

“It’s been _hours_ ,” Erin spits. “I’ve been worried _sick_. I thought you were both _dead_. Why wouldn’t you take your phone? Or leave a _note?_ ”

“I…” Jillian looks at a complete loss.

“And then I phone Abby, and she basically convinces me that you’re probably in the middle of a mental collapse and that this is _normal,_ something you just _do_. What am I supposed to do with that, Jillian? You have a family now, you can’t just _leave_ in the middle of the goddamn night!”

“You’re right,” Jillian says dejectedly, head hanging. “I’m sorry.”

Erin slumps, the majority of her anger expelled. She moves to peer inside the stroller, where Dana is fast asleep. Slowly, carefully, she reaches in to pull her free and take her into her arms. She holds her close, finding relief in the warm, solid weight of her. Safe.

“I’m sorry,” Jillian says again, voice raw. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Come to bed,” Erin says by way of a response.

They walk upstairs together. Erin lays Dana in her bassinet, still asleep, and then pulls Jillian close, just holding her.

“I’m sorry,” Jillian says against her chest, wet-sounding like she’s crying. Erin pulls back to confirm that she is.

She thumbs away the wetness on Jillian’s cheeks and kisses her, a little desperately, with need. She’s crying as well when she pulls away.

“You haven’t kissed me like that since we were teenagers,” Jillian says, voice shaking.

Erin knows that’s not a good thing.

“Are you okay?” Her voice breaks.

Jillian looks for a moment like she might lie, then shakes her head in surrender.

“It’s been so much harder than I thought,” she gasps out.

Erin pulls her in close again, clutching her wife’s shaking frame tightly.

“What’s wrong with me?” Jillian cries against her chest.

“Nothing,” Erin says. “Nothing’s wrong with you. It’s okay. It’ll get better. I’ve got you.”

She repeats that like a mantra, over and over and over again.

 

It gets better.

She starts going to therapy with Erin. They leave Dana with Connie and go twice a week, one individual session with Jillian’s current psychologist and one group session with other new parents.

It’s normal, everyone tells her. It’s okay to feel like this.

It gets better.

She finds her footing. She learns. She grows. She opens up to Erin, leans on her, recognizes that they’re in this together and that they don’t have to be perfect. They learn to laugh at how ridiculous it all is sometimes, how hard, how wonderful. They talk about the future, about how Erin will extend her parental leave in an instant if Jillian isn’t ready to be left alone come January. They reach out to their friends, accept help, take breaks.

She remembers about the journal she scavenged from her mom’s stuff, and she finally reads it. It details all the ups and downs of life as a poor single mother during Jillian’s first year. She reads it, reads it again, reads it once more even though the words were burned into her the first time with the imaginary click of a camera shutter. She soaks the words into her soul.

_This universe we live in is so utterly incomprehensible, so dark, so magnificent in all its infinite influence. I look into the unknown and it looks back at me like a watch face, reminding me that my time in this life is fixed and impermanent. It is maddening, the stagnant chaos of this world, the absurdity of life as we know it, the click and grind of the Great machine. I have to wonder if I have damned her by bringing her into this life, or if the universe, too, will love her as I do._

_I look into her eyes, and I know she will carry herself to Greatness, for she is every bit as infinite as the universe._

Jillian only understands about half of the journal, but reading it makes her feel closer than ever to her mom. It gives her insight into the brilliant mind she had, the turmoil, the beauty. The way she saw the world around her. It gives her something tangible to hold onto, however intangible her thoughts might be.

By November Jillian feels so much surer of herself. Stronger.

She and Erin talk with each other for a long time about Will and Laura, about if they’re ready to welcome them back into their home or if they need more time. They go back and forth, mostly on Erin’s end. She doesn’t want to do anything until Jillian is completely ready.

Jillian is ready, though. She’s ready for her family to be together.

They meet with Deanna, arrange to resume temporary placements. They start small, a few hours at a time. The kids adore Dana, especially Will. Jillian would’ve thought he’d grow bored with her, but he doesn’t.

The placements grow longer and longer. Their first overnight goes better than they expected. The first weekend goes even better.

They get to see the kids for part of Christmas. Abby and Patty are in town for the holidays, and they get to meet the kids for the first time. Will is shy at first but warms up to them quickly by his standards. Laura and Abby bond over their shared nerdy interests. Patty brings both of them super cool presents that they love.

The new year brings more firsts. Erin goes back to work, which isn’t as hard as Jillian feared it would be. She misses her, and so does Dana, but they get through it with lots of help from Connie, Amber, and even some of the Dykes. It’s rare that she doesn’t have someone else in the house with her every day at least briefly.

Luke finally gets engaged to Cara, making him the second in the span of a few months. Amber announced her engagement to Krystal back in November, and invited them all to the wedding, even the kids.

The kids love Amber. She offers to be their permanent hairstylist, which excites Laura immensely. Will is a little less enthused, but Amber promises to only trim up his messy curls and otherwise leave them be.

Jillian is relieved to have Amber in the kids’ life. She’s able to bond with them in a way that Jillian and Erin will never be able to, giving them a connection to half their heritage and culture, a role model to look up to, something their social worker has been pushing for the whole time they’ve been in the process of adopting them.

January also brings the decision that the kids will be placed full-time with them. Jillian spends the week before they move in constructing two massive custom bookshelves for the kids’ rooms. She enlists Connie’s help, sometimes with the bookshelves themselves and sometimes with babysitting while she works on them alone. They get them finished the day before they move in, and Jillian spends the rest of the day painting the rooms in the two colours that the kids picked out themselves.

They move in on a Saturday, suitcases and smiles and boxes upon boxes of comic books. They’re incredibly excited about their renovated rooms, especially the bookshelves.

Their goodbyes to Max and Sam are teary, but there are promises of frequent visits. They say goodbye and shut the door.

And all their children are home at last.

She can see all the strings of the universe stitching together, leading here like they always have been. She can also see that she made this happen, that _they_ made this happen. They created this family.

To celebrate, she gets her first-ever tattoo, something she never planned on doing. Her mother’s handwriting, scripted on her shoulder blade like a hand guiding her forward.

_she is every bit as infinite as the universe_

The rest of Dana’s first year and their first months all together as a family are a series of good and bad moments, days, weeks. They learn about each other, the ways they fit together, what works and what doesn’t work. They focus on ways to strengthen bonds with each other.

Jillian takes Will to one-on-one martial arts lessons, which they call Hero Training, to give him an outlet for his anger, which used to come out in destructive ways, often hitting his own body or hard surfaces when frustrated. She talks to him about his mom and gives him the words to talk about his feelings by opening up about her own experience losing her mother.

She talks to Laura, too, about their shared experiences. She watches her favourite shows with her and reads Laura’s fanfiction, but only the ones that she lets her read.

Erin’s parenting strategy is, in a word, research. She spends hours and hours combing through articles, parenting websites, books, anything she can get her hands on to become an expert in autism. She quickly finds out that the best strategy is just to listen to Will and let him tell her what he needs and what works for him. She learns to rely on her instincts instead of relying on the internet, and her bond with Will becomes stronger than ever. She also lets him teach her all about the different superheroes that she’s not familiar with, and she applies her studious brain to the process, reading all the comics that he assigns as homework so she can remember all the details and be able to participate in conversations with the rest of them.

She also uses her researching skills to help Laura prepare for her future. The two of them start trying to figure out what Laura wants to do after she graduates, and research colleges across the country. Laura thinks she probably wants to stay close and attend an in-state school. She also thinks she might want to become a teacher. Erin helps her with SAT prep and selecting courses for her senior year.

Rebecca and Connie bond with the kids, too, in their own ways. Connie takes Will to the comic book store every weekend, just the two of them. Rebecca teaches him all about the work she’s doing in a very logical, very Rebecca way. Her straightforward speech is easily understood by Will, free from hidden meaning and always blunt. It’s one of the reasons he adores her.

Rebecca still resists grandparenthood, but Jillian catches her enjoying the little moments, like reading to Dana. She does best when it’s just the two of them and it’s quiet, and generally jumps ship if things start to get loud or messy.

Laura turns seventeen. Will turns eight. Erin turns forty-one. Dana’s first birthday falls during Boston Comic Con, which they all go to together, the five of them all cosplaying as the Incredibles.

September rolls in, the start of Laura’s last year of high school and the official launch of the paranormal studies program at Harvard. Erin has been working tirelessly for weeks to get the last-minute details in place, and is extremely excited to return to teaching. Their enrollment levels are strong, the exoticness of the program and the reputation of the school and Erin’s work clearly coming through. Everyone is holding their breath to see how the first year goes.

Jillian turns forty and feels old.

They have a fairly large celebration because her birthday happens to fall on a Friday and is also technically, she supposes, a large milestone. Abby, Patty, and Kevin come, and they have a backyard barbeque at the house with all the Dykes in attendance, Amber and Krystal, and Rebecca and Connie. It’s sunny, warm, and a wonderful evening.

Jillian is flipping burgers at the grill and making faces at Dana, who’s sitting in a high chair a few yards away, when her phone rings. She fishes it out of her back pocket and answers without checking the call display, assuming it’s someone calling to wish her a happy birthday.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Jillian?”

“You got her.”

“It’s Deanna. How’s everything going?”

Jillian squints up at the sun for a second, then looks back at Dana. Phone calls like this often lead to a home visit to check up on how they’re doing. “Everything’s great! We’re having a little barbeque right now for my birthday. Will is on his third hotdog like a champ.”

Deanna chuckles. “Excellent. I’m sorry for bothering you on your birthday, then, but I have some news. Call it a birthday present.”

Dana throws her sippy-cup on the grass and promptly frowns. “Cup!” she shouts, slamming her palms on the tray in front of her.

Jillian rolls her eyes and sets down her flipper, stooping to pick up the fallen cup and return it to Dana, who’s still banging on the tray with a certain glee in her eyes that indicates she’s doing it on purpose to be as disruptive as possible.

“—and that will be on October 21st at 10:30am. Both you and Erin must be in attendance, as well as the kids, so they’ll need to be pulled from school that morning.”

Jillian frowns and straightens up. “Sorry, Deanna, I missed the first part of that because Dana was being loud. What is this?”

“Your court date,” Deanna says.

“What? Court date for what? Did we do something wrong?”

Deanna laughs again. “For the adoption, Jillian. Your case is finally being brought forward for legalization.”

“Holy shit,” Jillian says, then covers her mouth and glances at Dana. “Sorry. You mean—”

“You’re in the home stretch for finalizing this adoption.”

“Oh my God,” Jillian says. “When did you say it was?”

“October 21st, 10:30am. You’ll receive more information about it.”

“Thank you,” Jillian says, unable to believe this.

“You’re welcome. I’ll let you go and enjoy the rest of your birthday. Tell the kids and Erin I say hi.”

“Will do. Have an excellent weekend, Deanna,” Jillian says.

“You too, Jillian.”

She hangs up and stares at Dana, a wide grin spreading on her face. “Scully, you’re not gonna believe this…”

The rest of the family is just as ecstatic when she breaks the news. They’re so close.

October begins with Amber and Krystal’s wedding, a small but extravagant celebration with a party just as lively as the two of them. Jillian couldn’t be happier that Amber found Krystal. They’re so in love, clearly a perfect match for each other. Seeing Amber so happy is all Jillian ever wanted.

Then comes the court date. The morning of the 21st, they’re all nervous wrecks as they dress in their nicest clothes and drive to the courthouse. Jillian grips Erin’s hand in the front seat.

They stand in front of the judge as he reviews their case, and Jillian has never felt so stripped bare, so anxious. This one man is about to decide if they get to be the legal guardians of these kids, but it’s more than that. He’s deciding the fate of their family.

And he approves them.

They can’t keep from cheering and hugging, bringing disorder to the otherwise silent court, but nobody reprimands them.

They’re finally a family. Legally, officially a family. Forever.

The rest of forever falls into place after that.

It comes in a series of firsts, in milestones, in birthdays and holidays and marriages and graduations and twisting spirals of fate and choice, life and death, the universe bending and shaping around them.

They’ll move and grow and change and stay the same, tumbling forward into new adventures, writing new stories, creating new memories. They’ll achieve beyond what any of them thought possible.

Luke will get married and eventually run for congress, winning by a landslide. Amber will have a prolific career and long and happy marriage. Kevin will start a business that offers therapy to depressed and anxious pets, which will become wildly successful much to everyone’s surprise. Patty will receive an honorary doctorate in history from NYU for her years of work in the field of paranormal history. Abby will continue to work at Yale until her retirement, gaining worldwide recognition for her work.

Laura will attend Boston University and have a long career as a high school English teacher. Will, real-life hero, will translate his love of justice into a career as a police officer. Dana will follow in her mothers’ footsteps to attend U of M (and follow in her namesake’s footsteps to become a medical doctor).

Harvard’s paranormal studies program will be wildly successful and rapidly gain a reputation, sparking similar programs at colleges across the country and world. Erin’s contributions to the field of particle physics and paranormal studies will last throughout history.

And Jillian will, of course, return to MIT to take over Rebecca’s lab, where she’ll continue on Rebecca’s legacy by taking one or two cocky grad students down a few notches over the years. Rebecca will finally join her wife in retirement but visit the lab frequently to ensure that it’s being run to her standards. Jillian will run a safe, accepting, incredibly productive lab in the most Jillian Holtzmann way possible.

They’ll all have legacies that last long after they’re gone. Forever, even.

But that is tomorrow, and today is just today. Today, Jillian is holding her family close and celebrating, and she is kissing her wife like she’s never kissed her before, and she is thinking about all the moments that she had to make it through to get to this point, all the good, all the bad, all the choices she made and didn’t make, all leading back to one little decision in the Battle Creek library in August of 1989.

Because in that moment, she’s seven and rounding the corner into the Natural Science section, which she knows is the wrong one, but she caught a glimpse of a sad-looking girl through the shelf and she feels a desperate pull to approach her because she really, truly seems like she needs a little love.

So she gives it to her.

 

 

 

[ _Forever_ ](https://alooockhard.deviantart.com/art/Forever-735347670) [by Alooockhard](https://alooockhard.deviantart.com/art/Forever-735347670)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this fic is well over the length of a novel, I decided it deserves proper acknowledgements of everyone who shaped this fic into what it is.
> 
> To you, the readers who have stuck with this fic from the beginning and rode out the ups and downs, waited out the long hiatuses, blindly trusted me to get you to the ending in (hopefully) one piece—I wouldn’t be here without you. Thank you for reading, commenting, giving kudos, sharing, and for supporting this wild fic and everything it turned into. This fic started out as a question: What would have happened if Holtzmann was there when Erin left? I never expected that chasing the answer to that question for ten months would lead to 183,000 words of sheer madness, but god damn it if I’m not glad I asked—and I hope you are, too.
> 
> To Ann, for [your](https://alooockhard.deviantart.com/art/RJ-705647059) [incredible](https://alooockhard.deviantart.com/art/RJ-GG-709141159) [artwork](https://alooockhard.deviantart.com/art/GG-706892211) of this fic, I am incredibly grateful. Your ability to pull scenes straight from my head and turn them into reality is astounding. Your attention to detail is so mind-blowing, and I feel like you perfectly captured the moments that you’ve drawn. Thank you for sharing your talent and for letting me include your beautiful art at the end of the fic.
> 
> To everyone who has betaed this fic in its varying stages, I thank you. To those Tumblr users who messaged me to hear the pitch for this fic back when it was only in its baby stages and encouraged me to move forward with the idea—thank you. To the brave, brave souls—Cortney, Emma, Debbie, and Fiona—who volunteered to beta the final chapter and epilogue-that-never-was to tell me if I’d gone off the rails, I’m endlessly thankful for you and your feedback. 
> 
> To Ty, for inspiring new ideas and directions for this fic since the beginning, I cannot begin to thank you. This fic truly wouldn’t be the same without you. I’m eternally grateful that you let me borrow your characters and trusted me to play around with them in this universe. I can only hope I did you (and them) proud. Thank you. For Connie, for the Dykes, and spending long summer nights screaming about headcanons and fic snippets with me. I can’t wait to finish the snapshots with you.
> 
> And lastly, to my Jillian: you were the first one to hear about this fic, as usual. You’ve been there since the very first day, and you haven’t left my side since. Over the course of the ten months I’ve spent writing this fic, we’ve had our own story grow and take shape; we’ve gone from friends living on opposite sides of the country to girlfriends living in the same city. It is such a privilege to know and love you. You’ve shaped this fic more than anyone, through your guidance, your edits, your support, your ideas, your reactions, your comments, your honesty, your creativity, and most importantly: your love.

**Author's Note:**

> Come follow me on [Tumblr](http://jillbert.tumblr.com) if you haven't yet. I don't bite and it makes me really happy when people talk to me. And follow [the original Jillian](http://lil-peanutt.tumblr.com) because she's amazing.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [to bring back the fire in her eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13271154) by [holtzbabe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/holtzbabe/pseuds/holtzbabe), [toastweasel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toastweasel/pseuds/toastweasel)




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